


The Winged Slipper

by Ribbonshalos



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Angst, Cinderella AU, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Prince Genji Shimada, Romance, fair tale shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 23:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14658894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbonshalos/pseuds/Ribbonshalos
Summary: Mercy has been reduced to the lowest member of her own house after her father's death. The cruelty of her step-family is endless, but there are a few moments where Mercy experiences freedom. Upon one of the chances she gets to run, she accidentally frightens a nobleman in the forest. Merely a servant compared to the rich fabric of his coat, Mercy tentatively finds herself meeting with the man in secret again. He is flirtatious and persistent, but there may be another title hanging over his name that Mercy doesn't realize.





	The Winged Slipper

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been really into Disney/fairy tales as of late, so I hope you enjoy this Gency AU!

Mercy hardly gets the chance to run to the little meadow by the stream, but when a lapse of chores presents itself, she does not linger. They cannot yell at her if she has done all that was required. Moira cannot hold her pointy nose over her with a long, drawn look of undeniable disgust at her dirt covered presence.

The moments she can be free, she takes it.

Her simple yellow tunic is stained beyond measure, and the once white apron even more so. Ripping her hair free from it’s tie, a building headache lessens. White gold frames her sooty cheeks. Through the trees and thick foliage, she runs barefoot.

A breath of joy leaves her lungs. There are no orders, there are no shrill calls of her name. The soft breeze is her only company as it plays with her hair.

Breaking through the forest edge, Mercy dashes onto the pebble riverside where clear, cool water runs. Her rushed appearance startles the man kneeling at the waterside. A small gasp of surprise falls from both soul’s lips as the man falls into the shallow end. She hardly sees his black hair before it disappears underneath the current.

“Oh my,” Mercy gasps, running again to the river. “Are you alright?”

Mercy splashes into the shallows. The man with dark hair sputters water as she takes his arm. Helping him to his feet, they stand for a moment in the spring water rushing around their ankles. His clothes of fine cloth are drenched as he wipes water droplets from his face. Breathing for a moment, one hand comes to rest on her waist, as if on instinct.

Light, sepia irises fill her vision. Strong and bright all at once. A hard jawline and thick eyebrows decorate his face. Pale skin and black hair, now shining wet, hold his frame. He wears a set of riding pants and coat. Only a nobleman could possess a horse, much less clothes of such quality.    

His lips part breathlessly as his takes her in.  

“Hello,” he says as if dazed.

“Are you alright?” she asks again, going over his person. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh,” he seems to come back to himself, focused now. “Oh! I thought you were some sort of beast barreling towards me. You run so quickly you almost fly.”

“A beast?” she asks, skeptical of her being any form of frightening as she looks for wounds or marks.

Mercy grabs his arm resting around her waist. Lifting it to her gaze, a red gash along his arm mixes blood with the river. A sharp edge of a rock at the bottom of the stream must have found his skin. The man is unfazed by the injury as he watches her.

“If anything rushes up on one’s backside, it can be quite startling,” he says easily. “And, you, Lady, are quite stunning in yourself.”

“You’re hurt,” she says. Her attention is only upon the blood dripping down his elbow. “Come here for a moment.”

Still holding his bleeding arm, the man obeys Mercy as she leads him out of the water. Upon a large boulder at the edge of the stream, she instructs him to sit and keep his injury elevated.

“Lady?” he asks as she searches the nearby foliage.

She finds a green herb hidden away along a tree trunk before she uproots it. As she comes back to the man, she twists the leaves until green liquid oozes from its center.

“This will help your wound to heal quickly,” Mercy sits beside him, and the man happily gives her his bleeding arm. “It will sting for a moment.”

Swabbing the ooze onto her fingertips, she smears it over the bloody gash. He doesn’t tense at the stinging sensation it gives. She bends over his arm to inspect the severity of it.

“Lady, you don’t have to worry. It is nothing,” he eases, but Mercy only hums in concentration.

Thankfully, the wound is not deep, just rough along the length of his arm. Straightening, she tears a strip of cloth from her apron. Turning it to the clean underside, she folds it carefully before wrapping it around his arm.

“You are bleeding a lot. I don’t want you to receive a poisoning of blood.” Mercy explains, dusting her hands on the rest of her apron. She stands away from the rock the man sits on.

“Forgive me for causing this, I didn’t not expect someone to be here,” Mercy speaks, wary of a nobleman. “Will you give me your coat so I may at least clean it?”

“Wait, Lady, it’s alright.” The man stands as she edges closer to the treeline. He comes closer to her, as if afraid she’ll disappear as quickly as she appeared. “I was only passing through on a hunt with my brother. I meant to find a drink but found you instead.”

“I thought you found a beast flying through the trees,” Mercy speaks, raising her brow.

“Oh no, I can see you are too lovely for such a title,” he recovers smoothly. The man stands in front of her, bright eyes holding with the rays of sun. Even wet, he holds himself proudly. An air of overconfident makes her wrinkle her nose, but a genuine tone keeps touching through his voice. “You must tell me your name.”

Mercy stumbles on a few pebbles as she steps backwards. A shame touches through her at the haggered, dirty cloths she dons and ugly dirt marks upon her skin. The man may have hit his head when he fell in the water if he believes she has a title. Still, he is unwavering before her.

“I am not lady.” she says softly.

“Forgive me, princess,” he says, suddenly taking her hand. Strong, steady fingers eclipses hers gently. “I didn't mean to insult you.”

“I am very much less a princess.” Mercy tugs her hand away, leaving him disappointed. “I must go.”

“Wait,” the man reaches for her, but doesn’t take her hand again. Desperately, he speaks again. “Wait.”

He begins to slip off the drench riding coat. Folding it in a hurried, messy form, he holds it out to her.

“You said you wanted to take my coat, yes?” he asks, eager. “You may take it.”

Mercy immediately narrows her brow upon her previous offer. She is the fool who spoke it before she realized his ambitions.  

“You only wish to see me again, nobleman,” she accuses flatly.

He pauses at her use of ‘nobleman’, but does nothing to correct her.

“You seem to be in such a hurry now!” he says. “Tell me when I can see you again, if only for a moment.”

The pretty words on his tongue are all twisting her thoughts over themselves, but she did cause this accident upon him. Reluctance takes over her limbs. Slowly, Mercy reaches for his coat, brushing against his hands.

“In a fortnight, come back to this little stream at noon,” she tells him. “I will have your coat fixed.”

He beams as if she sold him the crown jewels.

“Thank you, Lady.” He does the strangest thing, and bows to her as if she is what he calls her. Mercy hugs the wet coat to her chest, looking over him as she once again steps away.

“Wait,” he stops her once more, “My name is Genji. May I know yours?”

Mercy stalls, parting her lips. The numerous and cutting nicknames her stepsisters and stepmother have taking to addressing her as still bite into her skin.

To be called only a lady is a relief.

“No.”

She turns, and disappears into the trees. Genji is left to stand there, dazed and dumbfounded by the woman of white gold hair. Dripping wet, he turns back to the stream.

He grins to himself, at least knowing he’ll see her again.

* * *

Lena points the sharp end of the knife at Genji’s chest. She jumps back on light feet, grinning at another victory.

“Genji, you’re practically letting me win. What’s on your mind, love?” she asks, switching the knife to her other hand.

He narrows his brow. Bending his knees, he tightens his grip on the knife. His weight shifts to the balls of his feet as he rushes Lena, swiping at her torso but she dodges each attempt. A lunge hopes to catch her at her throat, but Lena sweeps under and around him. Knocking him to his feet, he huffs as he feels the presence of the knife at the back of his neck.

“There’s no challenge when your distracted,” she chirps. Turning over onto his backside, he considers the royal guardsmen for a moment. Her hand already waits for him to grasp it. Pulling him to his feet, Lena doesn’t take a stance again.

She waits, arching a curious brow. Genji breathes out slowly, feeling his insides itch with recent events. His brother and father have noted his absent mindedness, but at least he was able to recover in front of them. Lena is mopping the ground with him.

Genji lifts his bandaged arm. A week letter, and its as if it was never there. Whatever that strange plant ooze the lady spread onto the wound was, it did wonders to speed up its healing.

“I met a maiden when Hanzo and I were out hunting last week.” Genji starts.

A curious expression falls onto Lena’s face. “And she gave that to you? You told Hanzo it was an accident.”

“No!” Genji exclaims, alarmed, “No, I feel into the river and cut it on a rock when she startled me, but she didn’t attack me.”

Lena moves to part her lips at that, excited, but Genji continues on.

“She helped me out of the water. I’ve never seen such light hair upon a maiden, and her hands were calloused but gentle.” His own hand brushes against his sleeved arm, remembering her fingers healing his skin. “She had a voice like satin.”

“Who is she? What was she doing out in the woods? What family does she belong to?” Lena jumps closer to him as he shares his secret.

“I don’t know! She ran off before she would tell me and outright refused to give me her name.” He is far away, reminiscing on his wet clothes and the deep blue shade of her eyes. “I’m going to see her again.”

“You don’t know her name? Genji,” Lena is appalled by this. “You have to find out her name!”

“That’s exactly what I intend to do,” he smiles, relieved to finally let loose his tongue. He would have never dared told Hanzo, as his rebukes would have followed quickly. He would drone him on with how Father is already planning his married to a foreign princess. He is no way can get attached to a mysterious girl running around in the woods in bare feet.

“But, Genji,” Lena says softly, reconsidering her words. He watches the excitement on her face melt away to a reserved worry. “The king is giving you to a princess of a faraway kingdom. When he told you this, you were so angry I could hardly speak to you during training.”

He remembers his fury clearly. It was only a few weeks ago that his father announced this, Genji argued. He fought until he was sent away and even then, his anger didn’t settle. A simple bargaining chip to insure another kingdom’s trade. As if the second prince is only good for that.

“The lady is different,” he immediately narrows his brow, defensive. “And I want to see her again on my own accord, not on the orders of my father.”

“Genji,” she tries again as concern knits her brow. “It will hurt to get attached and then never see this mysterious lady again. She may not even have the same interest as you and—Hey, wait!”

Genji turns, leaving the knife back on the table of other choice weapons. Her feet echo right behind him as he goes for the door. She says his name again, and he stops dead in his tracks.

“I trust you to not saying anything about this matter to anyone, Lena,” he throws this harsly over his shoulder.

The royal guardsman straightens at the command in his voice.

“Yes, Prince Genji.”

The sting of her using his title embeds into his skin. She’s mad too, but Genji doesn’t want to dwell on such things. Not when there is still a week’s time to see the lady again.

He doesn’t look back as he leaves the room in haste.

* * *

Mercy’s day doesn’t end until the last of the dishes are polished and the kitchen is spotless. More than once she has fallen asleep besides the little stove and woken up with soot covering her face. Her stepmother made a mockery of her the first time it happened, as she had to jump to making breakfast. The names her stepsisters still carry on their tongue cut like broken glass, but Mercy ignores it as best as she can now. There is nothing else she can do against it.

Now, she stays awake late tonight for her own purpose. Under a little candlestick, she works in her room in the antic. It is cold and drafty. The highest point of her house is not suitable for a sleeping space, but Mercy works with it. At least she is far enough away that her stepsisters must come up to the stairwell to shrilly demand her service.

Mercy bites the thread, cutting it with her teeth before tying the last knot. Holding up the riding coat for inspection in the presence of the little flame, the fixed hole is almost invisible. Unless one knew of its presence, and where to look for it, it is simply a fine coat. She didn’t notice the tear until she was cleaning it in the backyard, but decided to patch it up nevertheless. A quiet breath of pride touches through her at this. She may not be a seamstress, but she can make the nobleman's coat still appear so.

Genji. That is his name. Like a fairy tale prince. He was so eager to call her a princess.

What a delusional nobleman.

Her hands brush a few locks of hair out of her face. It was not easy to stow his coat away and fix it. She had to lie about the purpose of the thread to her stepmother, and steal a needle from Amélie, but Mercy almost enjoyed doing it. A little purpose that is only Mercy’s, and Mercy’s alone.

The man with sepia irises and strong hands is her own little secret.

She meets with him tomorrow. She has already secure a time to slip away for a few hours. A chance to breathe, if nothing else.  

Mercy folds the coat, tucking it under her feather mattress before lying down. She hardly sleeps before it’s sunrise. Once the rooster crows, Mercy is suppose to already have the animals fed and watered.

The morning goes by quickly. Even Sombra’s and Amélie’s teases of her stained yellow tunic hardly touch her ears. At an hour before noon, they and her stepmother stroll into town. As they disappear down the road, Mercy rushes to retrieve the coat, and clean herself of dirt and soot. Her dress is still a mess, but it is better than it was when she first came upon Genji.

Mercy breathes as she runs through the trees. There is no real need for haste, but she longs for nothing but the motion of her quick legs and the house haunted with three evil spirits to be far behind her. She carries his coat against her chest as she runs. Even as the fabric has been through the stream and her own cleaning of it, it still carries the slight scent of musk and metal. It makes her think of his sepia irises.

She comes to the edge of the forest where the meadow breaks the treeline. Slowing down, she smiles to herself as she steps out into the sunshine. The tie keeping her hair held back falls with one motion. She walks with an air of caution, not wanting to startle him into the stream once again.

Genji waits on a rock beside the river. The smile of humor upon Mercy’s face softens, not wanting to admit that she looked forward to this, him.

He turns at the sounds of her boots stepping through the grass. Getting to his feet, he takes in her face. Relief and sunshine light up his face. The light, brown hue of his irises still stain the inside of her eyelids. No riding clothes don him today but a loose pair of shirt and trouser.

“I was half expecting you to leave me waiting, Lady,” Genji greets, meeting her in the meadow.

“I almost did,” she admits. She holds out his riding coat with a bashful expression, the patch facing upwards. “This is still yours. There was a tear in the sleeve that I patched.”

Genji takes the coat, only taking a moment to look over it before returning it over. On the side, he sweeps his fingers over the sleeve before lifting his gaze, disbelieving and impressed.

“Did you sew this? I can’t even see the work done on it.”

Mercy folds her hands together, almost ducking her head but keeps her chin high. “Yes… I was careful to not startle you today.”

He smiles for a moment, looking over the coat one more time before he starts to step away.

“Now, I know you like to run off, lady,” he says as he bundles up the coat and moves to the rock he was just sitting upon, “but I have a proposal for you.”

“A proposal!?” Mercy interjects, raising her brow in shock.

“Oh! My apologies, not the right word for what I’m meaning,” Genji smoothly corrects, leaving Mercy to breathe out a sigh. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Much better,” Mercy says.

Genji leaves the coat upon the rock, but reaches behind the boulder to retrieve a weaved basket with a linen cloth covering the top. In moments, he’s returning to her. An hopeful but patient expression touches his cheekbones.

“Oh, Genji, I’m not going to take any payment in return for ruining your coat,” Mercy shakes her head as he comes to a stop in front of her.

“This isn’t payment, this is a proposition, remember?” He grins as he holds out the basket, waiting for her to view the contents. Curiously, Mercy gives to peering inside. A small gasp breaks from her lips when finding an assortment of fine bread and cheese with strawberries nestled inside more linen cloth.

“Will you, Lady, spend the afternoon with me?” he asks in a formal but jesting tone conveying his smile.

Mercy steps back, wringing her fingers. A burst of shame and worry flood her chest. The nobleman will find out eventually that there is no money to her name, and her lower class is hardly worth marrying to.

“I am not a lady, Genji,” she says softly, before he starts at her sudden turning away.

“I don’t care about titles!” he captures her attention, even as she edges at the treeline. “I really just want to get to know you, seeing as how I don’t even know your name.”

Her brow crinkles with the weight of temptation. This is foolish to indulge in such desire, but he is handsome, and earnest, if not obnoxiously flirtatious.

The thought of returning to an empty house, only to work her fingers raw until her stepmother comes back is sour.

She drops her anxious hands, backing away from the forest. Genji watches her movements with wonder.

“My name is Mercy.” That is what she wants him to call her. It is the name her mother dotted on her with. It is the only thing that hasn’t been tainted by her stepfamily.

“Mercy,” he bows again, bewildering Mercy at such a gesture reserved for someone of higher class. “Will you stay with me?”

His arm waits for her decision.

She lets out a breath, feeling freedom and fear as she slips her hand over Genji’s offered arm. It is a wonderful, sunny day to enjoy a meal outside. Drawing into his side as he leads her to the shorter grass, musk and metal comes off his person. The same scent as his coat.

Hesitantly, Mercy sits with Genji upon a clear patch of grass under the bright sun. She hasn’t had strawberries in some time, and the bread is fresh and warm. The nobleman asks his question, wanting to know her family name and where she resides, but Mercy is still guarded. She tells him about a stone house on the edge of the forest. Her family’s name is still only hers.

It surprises him that she is not within the kingdom’s wall, but then accepts it quickly. He asks her slowly if she knows about the king, and his two sons. She does, but she has never been to a festival in recent years or within his court. King Sojiro is a strict but giving king. However, Mercy believes he shouldn’t be so ready to go to war at a moment’s notice, which makes Genji crack a hidden smile.

He doesn’t hesitate to answer her questions about himself. He has an elder brother, Hanzo. His father is proud and sharp but loving. When Mercy asks about his occupation, he stumbles before saying he is a guardsman for the castle. That would bring wealth to a family, and explain how he is able to hunt in his leisure time. His mother passed away from sickness when he was very young, but his father tells him he looks like her.

Mercy looks to his sepia irises, wondering if his mother was just as beautiful as him.

The ambition to find her out never slows. As they spread slices of cheese on the remainder of the bread, she brushes her fingers against his arm. In the same place she had wrapped bandages around.

When he asks about her healing, Mercy isn’t sure how to respond. No one has ever inquired about her personal studies, or self-taught remedies. The books in her father’s study are wise and vast. She practices when she can when the pigs fall ill or, heaven forbid, when one of her stepsisters become sick. Natural healing concoctions or sewing up a wound are all well within Mercy’s ability, she only lacks the proper supplies and ability to perform as a physician.

“Let me see your arm,” Mercy asks when she swallows the last bite.

“I have never recovered so quickly from an injury,” Genji says as he rolls up his sleeve. Scooting across the grass, Mercy is gentle when she takes his arm. Slowly inspecting the fresh pink scar but healed skin, she nods, satisfied in the result. “What is keeping you from conducting yourself as a physician?”

Mercy presses her lips together. She refused before to answer any of his questions about her family, but every moment in the sunshine is quietly disarming her ribcage. The last she wants is for this fool nobleman to offer money in a heartbeat.

Her family’s money is gone, drained away. Any money she attempted to gain herself was quickly taken by her stepmother in the name of taking care of all of the family. A chastising would follow, telling Mercy to not be selfish. She cannot go anywhere, she can run away and leave every piece of her parents behind to be stained by her stepsisters.

She bites the inside of her cheek. Letting his arm go, Mercy turns her shoulders.

“I simply can’t,” Mercy speaks, receiving another quiet but frustrated sigh from Genji.

“Are you determined to keep me asking, Mercy?” he says her name as often as he calls her lady. It is lovely.

“Genji… it is difficult.” Mercy wrings her fingers again. A terrible habit but one that has anxiously come upon her from three different sources.

“Why must it be?” He asks, leaning forward as to find her gaze. “It is so that I couldn’t help you?”

She lifts her eyes back to him. The nobleman is waiting, intent on finding the answers on her lips as she breathes out cautiously. Shame and fear seize her again. Genji cannot fix this, he cannot fix what her house and family has become. She is but a girl with cinder on her cheeks and dirt on her yellow dress.

Mercy gets to her feet suddenly, afraid of how much the shadows have shifted. If she is late to making dinner, it will end severely.

“I must go.”

“Mercy,” he says, following her to the treeline.

“I really must go,” she says, still tasting the sweetness of the strawberry on her tongue and finding the color of his irises on the inside of her eyelids. “I’m sorry.”

He takes her hand gently. She doesn’t tug away as she edges beside the forest.

“You must let me see you again,” Genji pleads, watching her flighty person with hope.

His hand is warm against her fingers.

“Fine, but it has to be later in the day.” She will have to plan carefully, but she will slip away again. “Two weeks, after super.”

“What about a week?” he tests, eager.

She draws a breath before nodding. A sudden loss of patience and caution runs through her brain. Maybe it’s the daunting thought of returning back to those three women, but she has never looked forward to something so much before.

“Thank you, Lady, for giving me your afternoon today.”

He bows to her again, but with a new purpose. His lips touch her knuckles. The gentle touch causes Mercy’s free hand to clutch into her chest. When she tugs away, he lets her fingers fall from his grasp but keeps the sunlight on his face.

Mercy runs on air, feeling his kiss on her knuckles still.

* * *

The horse’s gait is a smooth ride after the long, drawn out day. Genji can hardly keep from imaging Mercy stepping out of the trees like a wood nymph to greet his person. The black mustang has been his companion for some time, and Lena’s own chestnut mare keeps up with their pace.

“You won’t have much time before the king begins to wonder where you’ve run off to,” Lena cautions. They are no longer angry with each other, but Tracer’s worry for him is evident enough. She is his guard, in every meaning of the word.

“I know,” Genji says, peeking through the leaves to the already golden sky. It will be pretty to race along the setting sun. “I’ll come back to you before dark. I just need you to alert me if Hanzo comes searching for me.”

His brother would put an end to his escapades in seconds if he found him with a lady.

They don’t understand. They haven’t seen the sunshine fall upon her hair, or heard the satin of her voice. All the mysteries surrounding her person tugs Genji further along. The rush of her flight and the breath within her flushed cheeks presses somewhere close inside his lungs. A gentle, feather light touch melts him at her presence . The guarded stance of her person holds no understanding, but he’ll know her.

He wants nothing more then to know Mercy.

“Will do, Genji,” Lena nods, although a grin touches her lips. “As your guardsman, I thought I would do more fighting rather than covering your back from the troubles you create.”

“You could always become Hanzo’s guard,” Genji throws her a tempting offer, earning her immediately expression of tasting something sour. A laugh falls from him as he tugs a champagne mare alongside his own horse. Saddled, but riderless, Genji hopes Mercy will find the horse acceptable.

“Wait,” Genji stops. The trees break apart to show off the little stream. Down it’s crystal clear water, he’ll find the lady. He tugs on the champagne mare’s rein, moving alongside the stream.

“Stay here, I’ll be back before dark,” he promises again, earning Lena’s acknowledge. He rides away and around a bend in the water. A soft concern knits Lena’s eyebrows together, but she does as he asks.

Genji comes to what he sees as their meadow. He still curses himself for being a scared fool at her sudden presence when she first came bursting through the trees. At least it gives him the opportunity to see her again with the ruined riding coat.

Dismounting, Genji pets the black stallion. The mare at his side trots forward to gain Genji’s attention, which he gives. A pat along the mare’s neck, and Genji looks to the treeline. The meadow feels empty without the lady. Almost as if it only becomes enchanted underneath her feet.

Genji waits not a moment longer when Mercy leaves the shadow of the trees. His breath softens upon the hair framing her face and her ever, ocean eyes. For once, instead of reluctant and caution, Mercy’s lips part in awe upon the two beasts Genji presents.

“Genji, what is this?” she asks, amazed as she comes upon them. He was not wrong to believe she would take to riding. With her kind and gentle movements, it seems fitting that animals would touch her heart.

“I thought you would enjoy flying on horseback instead of your own legs this evening, Mercy,” Genji offers, confident at his decision now. “I assume you know how to ride, but if not, it would be my pleasure to show you how.”

“Yes, I do,” she breathes out, stunned as she stands in front of the horses. Not even a beat of an unimpressed expression touches her cheeks at his flirtation. The mare already takes to her, nudging at her held hand, hoping for a carrot. “My father and I would ride the moment he had time away from his work.”

Genji looks to her, noting her first utterance of her family. Her father must be important, but it does not sit well with how she uses the past tense. He parts his lips, before hesitating on his next question. It’s as if he’s approaching a wild bird, and must keep his movements slow if he hopes to get close enough to catch the dove.

“What was your father’s work?” Genji decides for a safe enough question. Her hands rub at the mare’s head as she stills for a moment.

“He was a physician,” she speaks, fond and sorrowful all at once.

“Taking after your father’s trade is admirable,” Genji says lightly, “I’ll take after my own father’s trade one day, although, not entirely.”

Mercy turns to him, raising her brow. “And what’s your father’s trade?”

He stalls, finding his tongue for a moment before saying, “He oversees many important manners and dealings, nothing very interesting.”

Mercy hums to herself, thoughtful. “Is that what you truly want to do?”

The questions have turned upon him, but Genji clears his throat to keep up.

“I’m not sure exactly. My brother will be the real successor to my father’s… business, but I’ll still have a role in it. It’s just not in the way I would like to be.” Genji speaks, refusing to let himself grow angry over the foreign princess his father is trying to marry him off to.

He’s here with her now. He’ll enjoy the time.

“What are you sure about?” she asks. Her hands still pet at the mare but for once, she is curious instead of he.

Genji holds her blue eyes for a heartbeat.

“You being the only one whose company I don’t feel restless in,” he says the truth. There is no worry, no burden with the grace of her face. Genji feels that somehow, everything will fall into place when he speaks with her.

Slowly, Mercy looks away before finding the strength to see him again. A soft, almost anguish shine touches her irises.

“I’m glad, Genji,” she speaks softly.

It’s as if she reached out and squeezed his heart with her gentle hands. Turning away, Mercy comes to the side of the mare. She throws her leg over the saddle in one moment and hops onto the champagne back. For a moment, he catches a glimpse of her ankles, which quickly calls a shade of red to his cheeks before he contains himself. A smile of excitement bursts from her lips as she nudges the horse forward.

“Let’s fly, nobleman,” she teases, suddenly racing away down the stream.

“Mercy!” he shouts, already jumping onto his own stallion to follow after her. Her running is no different from her riding. Genji is still trying to catch her even upon horseback.

In the golden, evening light, they ride swiftly. Mercy moves with the horse, keeping her mare smooth and swift. Through the trees and even splashing in the stream, the horses gallop and carry them like the wind itself.

For the first time, Genji witnesses a freedom upon her cheeks in its full form. There was a glimpse of it before, underneath the leaves and besides the water, but now, she is wholeheartedly laughing. Genji challenges her, racing side by side but there is no true finish line. Her grin is unsuppressed, unafraid.

They come to a stop, allowing their breathing beasts a moment to simply walk around each other. The setting sun now burns a fading red. Genji finds himself grinning wildly at her, as a mirror smile takes her teeth.

“How was the ride, Lady?” he asks, breathless and full of energy all at once.

“It was lovely,” she gasps, still grinning. As their horses circle each other, the sun hides the treelines. Golden sun rays outline her hair for a moment. As if the sight was meant for her alone.

Their pull their horses to a stop. The mare and stallion are content to be so close side by side. Mercy’s hair has become a wild mess created by the wind. He lean forward without thought, tugging a lock from the corner of her lips and tucking it behind her ear. Mercy stills under his touch. The blush of her cheeks are a beautiful red.

“Thank you, Genji,” she says quietly.

She ducks her head away from his gaze. Genji almost swears, hating that her own cage is closing her off to him again.

“Mercy, beautiful Lady” Genji speaks, finding his heart in his throat. “I want to see you again.”

She shakes her head, but says, “I know.”

“There is something I need to explain the next time we meet,” he starts slowly. She lifts her head at this, suspicious of his tone. “It is nothing to worry about, but I need time to tell you about it.”

“Alright,” she gives slowly. “In a fortnight, at noon again.”

Genji’s chest lighten at this. “I will see you then, my lovely Lady.”

The suspicion doesn’t leave her as they trot slowly back to the meadow. Genji dismounts, reaching Mercy as she swings her leg over to the same side, and fixes her dress. Her ankles remain hidden this time, but it doesn’t stop him from becoming speechless at just the thought. His hand waits. Slowly, but with a lighter acceptance, she slips her palm against his. Her boots step on the grass with a gentle thud as he keeps her fingers in his grasp. Suddenly, she is all too close and too far in the same instance.

Genji slips his arm around her warm waist. Their sides suddenly lack any space between them. Her red cheeks stay as her hand unknowingly comes to rest against his chest. Gently, he lifts her knuckles to his lips. For this, his eyes close for a heartbeat as the sensation of worked but soft skin entices his kiss. A wish and plead dances on his teeth that he only utters with this motion. A slow parting takes his mouth from her hand, and he finds the oceans crashing against him.

He fell for the Lady of reluctance when he first saw her golden hair. The image of beauty and freedom still captures him. Now, he feels the rush of the wind as his freefall takes effect. Her voice holds secrets that he can only imagine could be unlocked by his kiss.

All the while, he’s been trying to catch this lovely dove, when he is the one kept willingly in her gaze.

She pulls away, taking once again to flight. Genji stays as the lady disappears into the treeline, tugging his heart through the foliage and greens.

Genji wishes to know what she is so afraid of.

* * *

In the days following the horseback ride, Mercy hums. She hasn’t carried a tune since her father passed, and her lighter movements keep the chores less dull. When her stepsisters enter the room, or she once again has to eat the leftovers from the dinner table, it doesn’t weigh her down so much. Mercy is careful about keeping the nobleman and their little meetings by the stream secret, but she holds a hidden smile when her stepmother insults her about having no capability to find a man to love her.

He brings a certain freedom and rebellion in an already cold cage. It’s partly why she keeps returning, but not the only reason.

She wonders about what he wishes to explain to her. For a moment, she had feared she’d unknowing become somewhat of a mistress, but she knows there was never any ring on his finger, and he is still young. His flirts and compliments are smooth. He’s had practice, and knows how to charm his way into a woman’s chest, but she is not such an easy thing.

She likes that she keeps him on his toes, asking for more. There is no doubt that the nobleman has been told no too little times in his life. She also enjoys that she is the only one of his attention.

Whatever it is he wishes for her to know, it can’t surely be that terrible.

In the evening heat of coming from outside and into the kitchen to prepare dinner, Mercy chastises herself for her lovestruck, school girl thoughts. He has never seen her covered in dirt and grime, all but sweating and working over the coals and fires to keep her own house running.

The blush from thinking of Genji earlier slowly turns to a red shame. He would have never considered her before if he saw her like this.

Her fingers wringe as she hears her stepmother enter the dinner room. Heavier thoughts press down her shoulders before she straightens. She jerks her chin high, not allowing one moment to feel undeserving of his presence. The people living in her house are affecting her too much. She refuses to allow that mentality to slip over to someone like Genji. Her stepmother and stepsisters have made her feel inferior in every way, but Genji calls her a Lady. She will not have them tainting that little miracle, however bizzare it may be.

Even if she may not deserve the title, Mercy wants it. The guilt touches her chest, but she ignores it as she waits for her stepfamily to finishing eating. Her twisting uncertainty and hunger both call until she’s able to steal a piece of uneaten bread.

The weeks pass slowly. Mercy cautiously keeps her impatiences hidden, and wakes early the morning of their meeting. She sets to work, insuring all the needed chores are performed for the day and giving her time to truly spend with Genji.

Before she runs, she cleans her hair. It’s been some time since she could simply wash and care for herself, partly out of exhaustion and partly out of a never ending demand for her service, but she stows away in the bath. Cold water keeps her skin pink but her hair is lighter then it’s been in past days.

She lets it down around her shoulders, enjoying the luxury of not having to pull it out of the way.

The spring holds the nobleman at its side. He smiles gently when she steps out of the trees. A basket of food already awaits, causing her mouth to water at the thought of fresh ingredients.

“Lady Mercy,” he greets. He is unfazed when she rolls her eyes at this, never one to stop pursuing his desires.

“Nobleman,” she says in turn, teasing.

“I have yet another fine meal waiting for you if you care to spend this lovely day with me,” he invites, bearing a smug expression as her already intrigued expression.

“If I must,” she sighs softly, taking his arm. “But I have been pondering over what you wished to tell me these last days.”

“Ah, yes,” he breathes out, sounding weary at the thought. “Yes…”

He stops, setting the basket down when he faces her. Mercy waits as he finds his tongue. The first trace of uncertainty lines his eyes and intrigues Mercy’s interest. A wave of worry washes into her chest.

“I am not just a nobleman.” He begins slowly, holding her gaze with a heavy weight. “I come from a family of royal blood and my father is the king.”

Mercy shifts in the meadow, crossing her arms. The worry dissipates like steam.

“You are a prince?” she concludes.

He nods, holding himself as if bracing for her reaction.

Mercy raises an unconvinced brow, “Are you done jesting?”

“What?” Genji exasperates, stunned. Of all the things she could have said, it was that. Lightly, Genji is offend by how sure she is of his joke. Does he not look like a prince?

“Mercy, I’m not jesting, this is the truth! I was on a hunt with my brother, Hanzo, the heir to the throne, when I first came upon you!” Genji exasperates, stunned.

She narrows her brow, taking unkindly to this continuity.

“Genji, enough.” She speaks, then pauses. “What, is this a game? I’m the Lady, and you’re Prince Genji—”

The title slides into place. Very rarely has Mercy been to the kingdom, mostly in her younger days, but her mother had pointed out the king and his two sons when he had entered the market that day. They were swarmed with guards, but the younger boys were eager to be out of the castle walls. The king wanted to see the people and their businesses as a show of good fortune.

“That is Prince Hanzo and Prince Genji,” her mother whispered into her hair as the entourage passed by.

“Prince Genji,” Mercy murmurs under her breath. She starts, thinking on her rude and terrible behavior to the royal son. Even the first time she came upon him, she all but pushed him into the stream herself.

“How dare you make me look like a fool!” she shouts, startling Genji back. “Is tricking me and attempting to woo me a simple a game to you? Or do you believe you may do whatever you please because the King is your father?”

Genji jaw opens quickly, “No, wait, I didn’t mean—No! Please don’t go.”

She turns, stomping her boots into the meadow. A mantra of chastising and curses spew from her mind and into herself.

“Arrogant, stupid boy!” she cries over her shoulder when he calls her name. “I am just as foolish.”

“Mercy, no, my Lady—” Genji’s frantic footsteps are just behind hers but she turns on him. They stop, inches from each other, breathing the same air.

“I am not a Lady, nor yours,” she speaks lowly.

“Mercy—” his sepia eyes beg.

“No,” she cuts her hand through the air, turning away. “I never want to hear you speak ever again.”

He suddenly takes her upper arms, holding her in place as Mercy starts. Strong fingers grasp the sleeves of her ugly, yellow dress as he struggles to control his temper. His hold never hurts her. Breathing for a moment, Genji unlocks his jaw.

“I know I deceived you. I know you don’t want to see me. I know I am wrong but I need you to allow me to explain. You will do whatever you may when I am finished.” His voice is cool steel, and he looks to her.

There is fear and sorrow upon his eyelashes.

“Please,” he whispers.

Mercy is fire and anger and insulted, but she stills. No one has ever fought so hard to keep her presence. She lifts her chin, waiting for his explanation.

Genji slowly lets go of her arms, running one hand through the wild locks of his black hair. His eyes squeeze shut for a moment. He breathes out again, collecting himself.

“I am the prince, but you did not know that, and did not treat me as such.” he begins, edging on a voice of bitterness. “You only spoke and moved around me, as me. A foolish, entitled man who only wanted to find out your mysteries.”

He struggles with his next sentence before speaking it. “Selfishly, I enjoyed being only a man to you. I enjoy the freedom you give to me, and I enjoy your hair in the sunshine and your soft hands.”

Mercy holds strong, refusing to give in to his tender words.

The next breath is only that of defeat.

“My father is marrying me off to a foreign princess that I do not know.” Genji holds her gaze, tightening his fists. Her eyes widen a fraction at this, unable to control her shock.

“You are the only woman I’ve come to know. You are my choice. Mercy, I don’t believe you could understand how trapped I am, and how free you make me feel.”

The first pricks of emotion take over her eyes. Mercy ducks her head, unable to gather the strength to run and hide her tears. Genji swears under his breath. In her blurry vision, he reaches for her but stops. His own shame makes him unable to hold her now.

She shakes her head as she is opens her arms. His expression turns into disbelief but he isn’t reluctant to take her embrace. Her arms wrap around his neck. The warm, secure feeling of his arms enveloping her waist overwhelms Mercy. She hasn’t been held in a long time, and she hates that she feels safe against him.

“I’m sorry, Mercy,” he murmurs into her hair.

When she parts her lips, the emotion caking her throat stops her words.The stains along his priceless collar are her tears, but she doesn’t have the care to worry about it.

He’s the prince.

And Mercy is going to lose him before she truly has him.

She tries again, finding her voice amidst the wave of her grief.

“I do understand, Genji,” she sobs against his neck.

Every word has hit her heart, every emotion trembling upon his tongue has flowed through her blood.

“I’m not saying you have to,” his breath tickles her ear. “I’m a fool for thinking I could do as I pleased.”

“No, Genji,” Mercy lifts her head, but keeps her hands resting on his shoulders. His own warm her hips. “I must explain something as well.”

His expression shifts. His hold is still light, ready for her rejection but Mercy blinks her vision clear. Tears still stain her cheeks. Her throat is choked full of wants and needs but she will speak now.

“My mother passed away when I was very young,” Mercy begins.

She speaks about her mother, how she called her Mercy and brushed her hair. Her father was a physician, and her mother, his assistant. They were peerless healers, matched only by each other until sickness came upon her. The fever took her before the dawn could reach her.

Her father had to remarry, both for money and family structure, but neither would last. Her stepmother and stepsisters were bareable then. They never spoke anything mean spirited to her as her father was always nearby.

But he was killed by thieves. Lost to some dreary road where Mercy would never know family again. Her stepmother was only devastated by the question of money and need, not of her late husband’s sudden passing.

Mercy stumbles when she comes upon the next part. Tentatively, Genji wipes his thumb across her cheek, clearing the tear stains as she finds the words.

They have so many names for her. Cinder. Servant. White goose. Dirt skin. All spoken with a sneer and a snarl. She eats only when they are all fed. The house is taken care of only by her. They survive only because Mercy is hard working.

Her stepmother words are sharp as whips. The day she told Mercy that servants don’t eat at the dining room table made her weep in private. The demand and manipulation of her work is pressed in like a layer of ice. ‘She shouldn’t be so selfish, maybe then we’d let her sleep in a warmer room’. ‘She is as dull and lifeless as one of the pigs outside’. ‘Work is good for her, she needs to make herself useful somehow’.

When she finally stops, she is breathless. It’s as if she just ran the length of the forest twice over. She has never bore the truth to anyone before. There was no one before she could speak to. It is frightening and freeing all at once. Mercy no longer cries.

Genji boils with a teeth baring rage.

“That is the most vile thing,” he spits, holding her tighter, “Mercy, that is unimaginable. You are not how they treat you.”

Her lungs move slowly as the tide of emotions still shift in and out between her ribs. She looks to him, hardly able to comprehend how she just told him, and how his little words hold oceans of comfort.

“I do understand, Genji,” she says softly, “You make me feel free too.”

His hold shifts against her, warm as the sunlight. The presence of his touch causes her heart to flutter like a wild bird.

“You can’t go back, Mercy,” Genji says. His sepia irises shine with a protection of her. “You can’t—I—We’ll...”

“It’s alright,” her hand moves from his shoulder to brush his cheekbone, “I’ll be okay. There is nothing that can be done.”

His brow furrows, frustrated and unsatisfied.

Then his expression lights up like the moon.

“Let’s run away,” he says.

“What? Run away?” Mercy shakes her head. “Genji, we can’t.”

“We can! We can make our own living, build our own house. Out here, far in the forest.” Genji speaks faster with excitement. “No one can cage us here.”

“Genji!” Mercy cries, taking back his attention. The hope in his irises are blinding, but Mercy only bears bad news. “All of my father’s and mother’s possession are in that house. I can’t leave them to be ruined by my stepfamily.”

She takes his cheek. Slowly, his excitement falls.

“You are still the prince. Your family needs you.”

A quiet breath escapes Genji’s lungs. He leans gently into her palm, closing his eyes for a moment against her touch.

So they will remain, flying at every moment only to return and close the bars behind them. A father’s expeditations, the last memories of fallen parents. They are terribly, and utterly, trapped.

“I would run with you so far away not even this forest would know us anymore,” Mercy whispers. A half hearted smile touches her lips. “I would…”

She would if she wasn’t trapped.

She would if he weren’t promise to another, unknown woman.

She would if they were both free.

Genji’s smile is weighted down, but it still touches her chest. He turns his lips into her palm, pressing a kiss against her rough but gentle skin. His breath warms her skin for a moment.

“I would chase you anywhere, Lady,” Genji swears.

Mercy leans forward. Upon her tiptoes, she brushes her lips against his eyelashes, on top of his left cheekbone. His eyelids flutter for a moment before she settles back on her feet.

“Thank you, Mercy,” he breathes.

“What are you thanking me for?” she asks.

“For allowing me to speak to you.” His grin comes upon her soul, warming her center even as the future lies dark and dim.

She ducks her head, and wraps her arms around his neck once more.

* * *

The beginning of evening light shines upon Mercy’s back and she comes upon the house. Her belly is full of bread and strawberries. The marks her boots leave behind are light but her shoulders hold heavy. She is dim but shining all at once.

There is so much uncertainty. There is no plausible future, but they still agree to see each other again. Prince Genji promised to return to her in a week. In the evening, after supper. Mercy knows it's foolish, knows it will sting to hear her stepsisters gossip about the prince marrying some snotty princess, but she is eager for the days to pass. Their reunion is what she looks to the dawn for.

The Prince still calls her a lady. It makes butterflies flutter in her stomach and around her ribcage. There was no dream of meeting royalty, much less a soul like his.

Her mind is still blissfully away when she steps into the kitchen, pulling her hair up. It will be dirty soon enough. Mercy stoops to set fire to the stove. Ash and black grime immediately touch upon her cheeks and hands.

Mercy straightens, dusting her fingers on her apron when she turns and finds her stepmother standing in the kitchen.

“Moira?” she asks, startled. She never comes in here.

Her long claws come to rest on the table. Slowly, one purple talon taps along the wood ominously.

“The oddest thing happen,” she speaks elegantly, poised, but the layer of poison is tangible to Mercy. “I called for you, but you did not answer. I set my stupid daughters to find you in the mud with the pigs or wherever else you may be, but they could not find you.”

An invisible fist clenches her chest, squeezing the breath out of her lungs. Its as if Genji is right there in front of her, and Moira is about to snatch him up in her claws.

Moira arches one piercing brow.

“Where were you, oh holy Angela,” she speaks coolly.

Her teeth click together at the name. Sombra came up with it first, claiming that her father dotted on her more, as if she were an angelic gift sent from the heavens itself. It was only the beginning of the mocking.

“In the barn, with a sick pig,” she says carefully, trying to free her mind from the fear freezing it over. “It ate something poisonous, but I managed to get it to eat echinacea.”

Her chilly gaze refuses to let up. Moira’s suspicion is as toxic as cyanide.

“My daughters may be idiots, but they are obedient. Are you telling me they could not see you in that big, open barn with a sick pig squealing?” she pulls the words through her lips like venom. Her tone is refine, but the edge of a snake waits to strike.

Mercy wrings her fingers, spreading black ash across her palms.

Sombra and Amélie are lazy as well, but it’s not as if they’d ever confess to not looking there in favor of getting her punished.

“Yes.” She speaks clearly, holding her gaze as nonchalantly as possible.

Moira’s stare remains unchanging. Her red hair hits the light as she approaches Mercy. A build up of a tempest edges at Mercy’s senses, and she stands in front of the stove, unable to go anywhere else.

Her stepmother’s eyes are different. One is blue, the other a brown, but Mercy swears that it appears red in direct sunlight. Her height arches greatly over her as a spindly, beanpole type of woman. A gaze that cuts against Mercy’s cheeks examines her dirty yellow dress, and the dirt and grime already staining her skin. She somehow interjects Mercy’s inadequacies with a one, long look. She brings shame upon her cheeks, and a feeling of deserving the mockery she and her daughters bring upon Mercy.

Even worse, Moira does not believe Mercy’s lie. The little stream along side Genji’s light gaze is one of the few good things Mercy has left.

She would rather die than let Moira take that away from her.

Her eyes raise, arching with displeasure and disgust.

“Wash your hands, servant girl. We don’t want cinder in our food.”

She turns, and leaves Mercy to perform her chores. A breath only fills her lungs when the door clothes. She covers her mouth for one moment, frighten and on edge from just one little encounter. A curse falls from her lips as she jerks her hand away. Now cinder covers her mouth.

She sets to cleaning herself, before preparing a meal she will only get pieces of.

* * *

Mercy has always stuck to the walls, but a looming shadow seems to follow at her feet now. It could simply be her own fear making her irrational, but after a few days, it becomes evidently clear Moira is watching her.

If she goes outside to take the eggs from the hens, she’ll find Moira on the balcony, simply drinking from a glass while surveying her with sharp, cutting eyes. When she works in the kitchen preparing their meal, Moira is readying in the parlor. Moira’s eyes seem to peer into her backside whenever her person passes by the entry way.

An anxiety and anger builds. She was foolish to let herself become so careless, but now her stepmother is treating her like a criminal. As if slipping to be in the company of a decent human being is a crime, but maybe it is only a crime to her. 

Mercy throws herself into her chores, afraid of raising more suspicion, but Moira does not let up on her vigilance. The days slowly fade and bring her closer to when she is meant to see Genji again, but it approaches like a brick wall that is unable to be climbed.

The morning comes with a cool dawn. Mercy starts, trying to envision how she can possible escape Moira’s notice, but nothing comes to her.

She can’t run. This house and her parents belongings are too precious to her memory. She cannot carry all of her father’s books or her mother’s vases and clothing.

She tries anyways. The bath is empty and her stepsisters are arguing with each other in the parlor. Before she can close the door, a long nailed hand pushes it open. Mercy gasps, but holds in the door frame.

“What do you think you are doing?” Moira asks, cutting through her center.

“I’m going to wash my hair,” Mercy says, tensing her jaw the slightest.

It is evident enough that dirt and grime have caked her blonde locks for long enough now. Her ponytail keeps it mostly out of the way, but smoke and ash linger in the yellow strands. Moira arches a brow, as if amused by this statement. 

“You’re going to mop the entire ground level floor until it is clean enough to see my reflection in it,” Moira speaks, offhandedly as if requesting sugar in her tea.

Mercy blinks, parting her lips, “Moira, I haven’t taken a bath in a week.”

Since she last seen Genji. Familiar shame builds in her chest, having to beg for the simple decency of keeping her skin clean.

“The mop water will clean you enough, now go.” Moira waves her out of the doorway, standing aside to let her pass through and back down the stairs.

She doesn’t move. Her wringing hands come together as she bites the inside of her cheek. For one moment, she looks to her stepmother, pleading with every essence of her person.

“Go on,” Moira hurries, already airing a bothered expression at her lack of action.

Mercy swallows with difficulty, but steps past her. Down the stairs, she comes into the kitchen where the dirty rags and bucket are. She hardly gets to turning the water pump on the side of the house before she’s desperately blinking her eyes. A window holds Moira’s figure as she fills the bucket, watching her with disinterest.

Mercy can’t run through the forest and see Genji. There is no way to escape Moira’s suspicion of Mercy’s happiness. His thoughts will be terrible upon her, but perhaps it's for the best. They were but a dying star erupting into black hole.

She can’t help but rub her eyes at the thought of him at the stream, wondering why she keeps him waiting. Even if she wanted to somehow see him another time, there will be no way of knowing when he’ll be there again.

Numbly, Mercy goes back into the house. Getting onto her knees, she begins to scrub the floor.

* * *

The stream babbles quietly as the sun falls from the highest peak of its arching path. Genji has paced and sat and waited, but the truth stares him painfully in the face. Even the flowers he holds have wilted and lost their life in the sun.

Mercy is not coming.

Could it be her evil stepmother keeping her locked away? Mercy swore she and her stepsisters have never laid a hand on her, but anyone capable of treating someone like her with so much cruelty is not so far from physical violence. He bites her tongue at the thought of bruises and blood on her skin.

Maybe she did not come on her own accord. Her anger at him spilling the truth of his title was evident enough, but they came together. Her own truth tasted sweet and bitter all at once, but he knows why she is so guarded now. She wouldn’t have agreed to see him again if she only planned on breaking what they have now. It lingers on his mind. She may have felt to weighted down by their hopeless future and decided it would be less painful to simply stop now.

No. He doesn’t believe that. When she spoke so bluntly to him, he only felt genuine acceptance for their little hideaway along the stream.

Something is keeping her away. Perhaps she simply couldn’t slip out from under her stepmother’s wretched gaze.

Genji paces for some more time before Lena leads her horse and his through the trees.

“Prince Genji,” she says, already sensing his disappointment. “We must go. Your father will be wondering where you are.”

His heavy brow turns back to the bouquet of white lilies and yellow orchids. Setting them in full view upon the bolder, he hopes that she will somehow come across them.

Genji mounts his horse, solemn and silent as they start back through the trees. His guardsman parts her lips for a moment.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Lena says softly.

“No,” he narrows his expression. Anger and frustration flare before determination burns them all together. “I’m not going to lose her.”

Spurring his horse forward, Genji rides with a fire in his veins.

* * *

A royal guardsman opens the door for Genji, allowing him into the throne room. He walks down the center aisle, having long since memorized the paintings and gold decor along the walls. On the throne lies the king, signing one last document with a quill feather before facing his son. A heavy crown of silver and platinum frames his dark, graying hair.

“Father,” Genji bows deeply.

“Sparrow,” King Sojiro answers. “Come here, my son.”

Taking to the steps, Genji comes to stand eye level with one knee propped up on a higher step.

“May I speak with you,” he asks, readying himself.

“Of course.” He waves away his advisors and servants. They leave the throne room empty save for the king and the prince. Genji straightens when the great doors shut.

“I have a proposal—proposition for the arranged marriage you are preparing for me.” Genji speaks.

The king’s brow narrows. “I told you there would be no more discussion about the marriage.”

“I know.” Genji says quickly, “You are my father and my king, and I will marry someone as you ask, but I have a request. Will you hear it?”

A beat of silence echoes his words. Desperation claws at his ribcage but he holds still. The king overlooks him, before nodding solemnly.

“I wish to hold a ball, one that will have every young maiden in the kingdom attending it.” Genji begins. “It will raise your people’s moral, and show the kingdom that the royal family is open to them. I will dance and meet with who I wish, and the foreign princess will be invited. At midnight, I will have chosen someone within the castle to marry.”

When Genji stops, he is breathless. His heart is held in a fist of anticipation and impatience as the king holds him sternly in his gaze.

This is all he can hope and pray for. If his father agrees, he knows Mercy will come to the ball. Once he finds her, the king cannot stop his engagement to her. Mercy will never have to return to those wretched people, and she will never have to scrub or cook another day in her life. Her soft hands will never know dirt again.

The king tilts his crown, his brow crinkling heavyily.

“Do you wish to disobey me so much, my son?” King Sojiro speaks.

“No,” Genji breathes. “Hanzo is the heir to the throne. I will only remain the second son. I will do everything in my power to help this kingdom and Hanzo, but I only wish to marry someone of my own heart’s desire.”

Genji holds himself strong, unmoving in front of the king.

“Please, Father.”

With his heart in his throat, Genji waits. The king remains still upon the throne. Sighing softly, he raises his gaze upon Genji.

“You make me soft, sparrow.” King Sojiro resigns. “I will allow this, but you will dance with the foreign princess at least once, to see if she is not someone you could grow to love.”

His gaze brightens from the weariness once tainting his expression. Raising his shoulders, a small weight falls away as he bows deeply to the king.

“Thank you, Father.” Genji speaks, before straightening.

“I will order the announcement. Go, my son,” the king dismisses. He is already hurrying to the door.

“Lena!” he calls, moving past servants as they hustle back to the king’s side.

“What?” she starts, running to keep up with his excited strides.

“We’re going to host a ball,” he grins. It is as the very sunlight keeps his steps lights as he runs forward.

“How is that going to help you find Mercy?” she asks, confused.

“She’ll come to the ball,” he says it as if it is obvious.

A pause as she considers this, adding up his words.

“And your sure she’ll come?”

Genji turns, facing Lena’s unsure gaze.

“I know she will.”

* * *

The quick, light knocks upon the door echo before Amélie shouts at Mercy to see who it is. Dusting off her hands, she hurries to answer. Swinging open the door, a messenger boy stands before her.

“Good morning!” He presents an official paper stamped in wax with the king’s symbol of two dragon heads circling each other. “This is a message from the castle.”

“From the castle?” Mercy murmurs as she takes it. Thanking the errand boy, he hurries off before she can even close the door behind her.

There is silence for a heartbeat. Mercy listens, but Amélie does not scream her name.

A desperate thought overwhelms her mind. Slowly, Mercy hooks her finger under the seal, not daring to wonder if it's from him.

“What is that?” Sombra demands, elbowing Mercy in the arm as she rips the paper from her grasp. A brush fire ignites inside her at the thought of her stepsister reading the letter, but she doesn’t reach for it reactively. There is no need to get Sombra suspicious over her as well. Instead, Mercy wrings her fingers together. As much as she would love nothing more then to rip the official paper from her hands, she keeps herself together. She only prays it's not from Genji.

“What is that?” Amélie pokes her head into the hallway. Her yellow eyes find the wax seal as Sombra breaks it.

“Let me see that,” she snarls. Snatching it from Sombra’s hands, she unfolds it. She doesn’t get a moment to look at it before Sombra is tugging it back.

Mercy narrows her brow as she’s shoved against the wall by their quick struggle and sneers. Only a moment more passes when a long shadows falls upon all of them.

“Enough,” Moira steps between her daughters as if they are willowy clouds. Her long claws take the paper, dragging a long, heavy look over Sombra and Amélie as they stop glaring at each other.

“Behave yourselves, girls, while I read this.” One more look down her long nose and Moira straightens the paper neatly.

Mercy almost curls inwards at the letter in her stepmother’s hands, but keeps face.

Her diffenting brown and blue eye scan the paper. In moments, her brow morphs from boredom to sudden interest.

“There is to be a ball,” Moira speaks.

“A ball?” Sombra demands. Mercy’s hands still at this.

“In honor of the second prince,” Moira continues as if Sombra never spoke.

Her heart drops into her stomach. Turning away, she does not wish to hear the rest of the depiction of the royal wedding soon to be had to a foreign princess. There is no space for more aching in her chest.

“And by royal command, all young and eligible maidens must attend,” Moira finishes.

Mercy stills. Amélie and Sombra both start a giddy uproar. In sharp sopranos, they begin to banter back and forth about the prince taking one of them to dance.

Her head lifts along with her heart. The blood in her center flutters lightly, and she is not so faint. An unprompted smile threatens to tug her lips upwards, and she hides it with her hand.

Genji. That silver tongue and determined boy has once again found a way to see her. What became of the arranged marriage to the foreign princess, Mercy has yet to find out. But somehow, somehow, Genji has convinced the king to let him marry who he wishes to.

She must go to the ball and see him. Even if she wears nothing but a potato sack, she will go.

Best of all, her stepmother and stepsisters can’t stop her from going to Genji. The royal command deems it so.

Sombra speaks up in between Moira’s discussion of their dresses.

“But Mother, what about Angela of ashes?”

Mercy faces them as three pair of glinting, predator eyes latch onto her. Her stomach twists.

“Surely such a servant girl can’t be allowed to go.” Amélie says, insulted at the thought.

Her hands tighten into fists as she squares her shoulders. Lifting her chin, Mercy opens her jaw.

“Would you break the king’s law by not allowing a young and eligible maiden to go to the ball?” her voice comes clearly.

Moira tilts her gaze, taking in her daughter’s agaped mouths and Mercy’s stance.

“I suppose, if you can find a dress and finish all the chores before we depart.”

“I will,” Mercy states.

She turns, and takes to the stairs. Sombra and Amélie immediately squeal to their mother about letting oh holy Angela to the ball, but Mercy does not linger to hear her sharp retort. She climbs upwards. Through a hallway and to a tucked away door, a little sewing room hides. There was very little Moira did not sell or give to her own daughters once they began losing money after her father’s death. This however, remains untouched save for the rare times Amélie attempts to sew, only to complain and throw away a needle when her finger is pricked.

There is a little rack for which Mercy hides a few precious items. A soft, pink dress that belong to her mother, but looks to be part of the rows of fabric waiting to be sewn. Hidden in a box are a pair of beautifully crafted shoes her father gave to her mother when Mercy was born. Wings arch out on the sides of the heels, as if appearing as a messenger from the heavens.

She kneels. Slowly, she takes the dress and lays it across her lap. The fabric still shines as sheer lace decorates the torso and falls into blossoms along the skirt. The perfume her mother wore has long since faded to dust, but the memory upon the dress is suffice for Mercy. Folding it neatly, she examines the shoes. Muddy boots are all she’s known since her stepmother invaded their home, but this is priceless.

Quietly, she shifts off her boot. Along the ground, her hands slip the shoe on to find that it fits her perfectly.

Mercy swallows against the emotion lining her throat. Blinking slowly, she finds herself in joy, and almost in tears because of it. The few precious things her mother has are still hers, and she will don them to see Genji.

Since the days of her father’s passing, she feels a bright sun breaking upon the horizon.

Mercy gathers the dress and slippers. Clutching the precious items to her chest, she makes her way to the attic. There is work to be done.

Two weeks time is all she has. Mercy paces herself with the image of the castle in the back of her mind. She has only seen it from a distant, but in a fortnight, she will be within its walls.

As her stepsisters sneer at each other as they bicker over dresses and what pearl necklace to match with the fabric, Mercy hurries to finish her work. Any minute she has to herself, she attempts to slip away to her room to work but Moira is seemingly around every corner. A demand to finish another, time consuming job leaves her stern lips in moments, and Mercy jumps upon the task with vigor.

For a few, precious moments, Mercy finds an angry expression touching the corner of her stepmother’s eyes at her unruffled demeanor. The chores are tied downs, anchors to sink her before she could ever reach the castle’s land, but Mercy refuses to drown.

It is almost as rejuvenating as the thought of going to see Genji.

Mostly, Mercy makes due with the few candles she is able to steal from the dining room and restitches the dress in the late hours in the coldness of the attic. The dress keeps her lap warm as she reattaches a lace blossom or corrects a sheer piece of fabric. There is life in the dress, and Mercy loves to think of what soul she can put into her mother’s attire.

The pink color is soft on her eyes as she sleeps very little and wakes very early.

The shoes are fine on their own, leaving her to only worry about completely her chores and finishing the dress to be immaculate.

When morning brings the day of the ball, Mercy is already outside in the chilly dawn. The dress is finished, but Moira is looking for any cause to refuse Mercy’s right to see Genji. She will not be forced to stay behind because of unfed pigs or unclean floors.

She finishes a days worth of work by noon. All the while, her stepmother is readying her stepsisters with warm baths and soft oils and perfume. Mercy runs with a goat milk soap bar and a somewhat clean apron to the little stream. The water will be biting and cool, but it will be clean.

On a nearby boulder rests a bundle of dried, brittle flowers, once yellow and white. She takes one blossom only to have it crumble to flakey dust. Quietly, she hopes Genji’s still waiting on her.

By evening, Mercy’s hair is a golden curtain falling against her shoulders. Her skin is stainless. Her cheeks are red and her eyes shine.

When she steps down the stairs, her stepsisters are frantically going over their purple and blue gowns. They are beautiful and full, shining with jewelry while Mercy only carries a simple gold pendant around her throat. They are dressed like royalty, but she holds her skirt as it glimmers.

“My beautiful daughters,” Moira drips sick sweetness, her back to Mercy’s careful descent. “The prince will surely find one of you as radiate as you truly are.”

They giggle in glee at the thought, touching over their skirts. Then, Amélie lifts her gaze, slatting it like a hungry cat.

Moira turns, finding Mercy reaching the bottom of the steps. At the stare of her stepmother, Mercy tightens her jaw.

“I fixed this dress myself, and am ready to go to the ball,” Mercy speaks, sure.

Sombra and Amélie exchange humorous stares as their mother steps forward, overlooking the pink gown.

“You are not ready to go to the ball, nor will you ever be,” Moira sharply proclaims, stopping Mercy’s breath in her lungs.

“All young and eligible maidens must attend, by royal command,” Mercy says, keeping her tongue cool but also firm. “I must go!”

“I said if you could find a dress, you could go, but this thing is not a dress.” Moira’s claws wave over the lace and sheer fabric of Mercy’s gown. “It is a pink monstrosity. The castle is not fit for such an ugly thing.”

Mercy blinks, looking from her smirking stepsisters to her unmoving stepmother.

“This was my mother’s dress,” she voice cracks.

“I can see you also inherited your mother’s pitifulness. Look,” Moira steps forward to Mercy’s stunned person. “It hardly even functions as one.”

A quick movement of Amélie’s hand rips Mercy’s right sleeve down the length of her arm, leaving it hanging by a few strings. Mercy gasps, moving to hold the sleeve when Sombra strikes out, tearing off part of a sheer layer of skirt with her own fingernails. Mercy cries out softly as she attempts to take a step back but almost stumbles on the step. She can hardly protect her mother’s dress from Amélie’s harsh swipe as she completely tears a lace blossom off the bosom.

Taking the skirt in her sleeve, Mercy caves in on herself, readying for another assault. Their twisted smiles only bear down on her.

“How dare you,” Mercy breathes.

“How dare I?” Moira’s gaze lifts, duo colored eyes widening intensely upon her. “How dare I let anyone think you are a part of this beautiful family.”

“I don’t think anyone, much less the prince, wants an ashy girl for a bride,” Sombra muses obnoxiously. Mercy’s expression caves inwards involuntarily.

Amélie drags her sharp gaze over Mercy’s ruined gown. “Does he know you come with enough cinder to fill all the fireplaces in the castle?”

“He’ll know after the trail of dirt she leaves behind,” Sombra laughs.

“Angela,” Moira smoothes, brining Mercy’s shining eyes back to her. “You are a filthy servant girl. You are nothing else, and you are not going to the ball.”

Twisting, as if a soul doesn’t stand at her back, Moira gestures to her daughters.

“Come along, now. You two will not be late.”

With a giggle and a an unimpressed gaze, Sombra and Amélie follow their mother out of the door. It shuts with an empty echo. In moments, her stepmother and stepsisters are upon their carriage, and on their way to attend the ball.

Mercy stands. A sudden coldness covers her bare skin between tears and rips. Dirty. Ruined. Unworthy. The sharp fingers and echoes of ripping fabric builds up in her throat. Her lungs refuse to move, until she’s gasping and running.

But there is nowhere to run to. Her dress is ruin. Genji resides faraway in the castle. Her home is not her own. She only gets to the back garden when she stumbles and falls. In the grass beside a low stone wall, Mercy’s sobs overtakes her chest.

Her hand attempts to smother her cries and moans but it only muffles the distress. There is no cinder on her hands, or dirt in her hair, but its presence falls heavily upon her mind.

She is not a lady. The only title she owns is that of an orphan. Genji does not know her as this lowly, meek servant girl who always has soot marks on her cheeks. There is no dress to go to the ball with. There is no bright sun as the evening leaves her in darkness.

Mercy resigns to stay here and sleep until she never wakes up.

“Child,” a voice calls, startling Mercy.

Lifting her head, her tears stop for a moment at the sight of a beggar. Old as time itself, with wrinkles embedded into her dark skin, she slouches in old, tattered clothes. A white braid falls out of her hood as she looks over Mercy with one, golden eye. The other is hidden behind an eyepatch, or perhaps, not there at all.

The old hag extends her arm, revealing scarlet dripping out of a long cut.

“Child, could you help me? I’ve cut my arm,” her voice croaks and cracks, but Mercy wipes her face, getting to her feet.

“Yes,” she speaks through the emotion in her voice. Kneeling in front of the old woman, she offers her hands. “May I see it?”

“Yes, child.” She lets Mercy look over the injury, small but still bleeding. Her hands are still wet with her tears, but the old woman’s body trembles, and the blood is unfavorable. Quickly, Mercy reaches for her dress, and rips a square of pink from the waist.  

“That is a beautiful dress, child,” the old hag speaks. “Are you sure you want to stain it with my blood?”

The smallest smile of comfort touches her cheeks. If of nothing else, she can help this person.

“It was my mother’s dress,” Mercy says around her tears, “She wouldn’t mind.”

“Ah,” she hums as Mercy wraps her arm. Tying the pink around it, it holds in place well enough. The old woman examines her work as Mercy’s hands fall back into her lap.

“You have healing hands, Mercy,” she speaks, lifting her one eye to hold Mercy’s gaze. “And we have many things to do if you are to get to the ball in time.”

“Wait,” Mercy touches her hand as the old hag turns away, “How do you know my name?”

The elderly woman smiles with agaped and missing teeth.

“I’m your fairy godmother, child,” she speaks as she steps out of her grasp.

She raises her hands, and with a slow showering of sparkling magic covering her person, her ruined and tattered clothes disappear. A dress of deep blue adores her person. She no longer hunches over, old and weathered as her dark skin becomes youthful, and beautiful. Her hood falls away, revealing a cascade of shining black hair falling down her back. Her eyepatch is gone, and the woman looks down upon her with two, glittering eyes of gold.

Mercy only stares as she gets to her feet. Standing before the fairy, a softer hope fills her once empty chest at simply being in her presence.

“You’re my fairy godmother?” Mercy breathes out.

“Yes, Mercy.” Her smile is a blessing. “It’s a terrible thing, the way those wretched woman treat you, but don’t fear.”

The fair steps forward, and takes Mercy’s hands in her own.

“Never stop fighting for what you believe in,” she says.

Mercy breathes in, letting the air hold for a moment as she thinks of the little stream and Genji standing beside it.

“I don’t know how I can get to Genji now. Not like this, and most certainly not by walking.” Her voice cracks again.

“Oh don’t cry, child. I am here to help.” the fairy draws a wand, looking over her thoughtfully. Her golden eyes take in her ruined dress.

“It is beautiful,” she says, touching Mercy’s heart with that, “but is it alright if I changed it, just a little?”

There is no promise of what the fairy might do, but her eyes sparkle, and hope fills Mercy’s ribcage. Without knowing what will come, but believes it will be alright, she nods.

The fairy lifts her wand. Gently waving it over her person, Mercy stills.

Sparkles of light touch upon her shoulders. Slowly, the glittering shine descends over the fabric of the gown, causing the fabric to glow brightly as its ruined seams come back together. The once soft pink turns into a glorious, white feathered bodice. Short sleeves are refasten to the dress as gloves reach up the entire length of her arms. Fading from a dove white to a soft, sunflower yellow, they keep her hands.

The magic falls to the skirt. Allowing it to become voluminous, pieces of feathers fall around her hips as the rest of the gown sparkles and fades into the same soft yellow as the gloves. Lastly, the sparkles lift to her back, and Mercy turns to watch the magic build out wings of lace and beautiful yellow tipped feathers. The decorative wings reach up, visible over her shoulders as the last of the magic comes to her hair. It pulls it back, circling her temple with a golden halo band as locks of white gold frame her face and the rest bounces in a high ponytail.

Her hands come to her chest. Nearly gasping out a small cry of joy, Mercy looks to her godmother.

“Thank you,” she whispers. She stares down at the gown, before slowly turning. The fairy watches her with a gentle smile as the skirt flares out.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” the fairy looks over her, proud. “I thought the wings might be a bit much, but they fit you perfectly. Now, lift your skirt, child.”

Confused, but obeying, Mercy takes the gown in her hand and reveals her feet. Her once pale pink slippers are now adored in white. Low heels allow feathers to flare out along the back of foot, dipped in yellow as it follows the rest of the design.

She twists her feet, admiring the wings on each heel. As if she is to be carried on light wings tonight.

“They’re beautiful,” she breathes, straightening. “But fairy godmother, I have no way to get to the castle.”

“Yes, yes, let’s fix that quickly,” the fairy turns, scouting the backyard. “I’ve left a little enchantment that will also keep your stepmother and stepsisters from recognizing you. Ah, here we are!”

The fairy takes to the garden, and Mercy follows behind. She curiously watches the wave of her wand as the magic encircles a pumpkin, and several mice hiding under the vegetation. In moments, the pumpkin grows into a carriage as the mice shift into white horses. A gasp falls from Mercy’s lips at the sight while the fairy continues on.

“Now, we need coachmen. Yes, you two will do.”

Waving her wand over a pig, and one rat burrowing into the pig trough, two men spring forward. One stands large and fat with a big belly, and the other is skinny and scrawny. They both are adorned in proper attire, and the fairy hurries all the creatures along to fit perfectly around the carriage.

“All is ready, child.” she speaks once the door is open and waiting for Mercy’s entrance. “Off to the ball you go.”

“Fairy godmother, wait,” Mercy starts, wringing her hands. The fairy looks over her, confused at her hesitation and beautiful dress begging to be danced in.

“I am nothing but a servant girl,” her voice comes softly as she fears the truth of her own words. “The man that I hope to see tonight calls me a lady, when I have nothing but cinder and ash to my name.”

She stops, praying the cracks created in her heart doesn’t break her next words. 

“I don’t know if he—or anyone—could love someone like that.”

The fairy considers this for a moment. Swiftly, she comes to stop in front of her. Her attention and golden eyes rest firmly upon her.

“Sweet child. This dress nor this carriage of magic have any effect upon your value as a person. What makes you worthy of love and care, basic decency, is this.”

The godmother touches a finger to her chest, right above her beating heart.

“And this,”

The tip of her finger moves to her forehead, tapping lightly on the center of her brow.

“No one can convince you otherwise unless you allow them to.”

Warmly, the fairy smiles to her with the utmost of confidence. She takes her arm, leading her to the carriage door.

“Understand your worth, and go.”

Guiding her forward, the fairy holds her arm before she steps onto the carriage. Mercy stops before going inside. Swiftly, she embraces the fairy. The hug is returned gently before the fairy is hurrying her along.

“Now listen carefully,” she begins, “The magic will only last until the last stroke of midnight. You must be swift in finding your prince, but once you do, all will be well.”

The fairy steps away from the carriage with a knowing, bright look as Mercy’s eyes widen in stark concern.

“Until midnight,” she repeats softly.

“Until midnight,” the fairy confirms. “Now be off!”

The fat coachmen slaps the reins, leading the horses into a gallop. The carriage rushes away as the fairy waves Mercy off.

Mercy fixes her skirt, still admiring the many feathers and sparkles with the yellow. Taking a deep breath, she takes the words her fairy godmother spoke, and locks them into her heart. She straightens her shoulders.

She will find Genji tonight.

* * *

“You are waiting for someone.”

Genji blinks at the princess’s statement before sheepishly recovering.

“My apologies, Princess Hana,” Genji says, “I don’t mean to be rude.

“Who is she?” She asks, carefully keeping with the waltz. The other dancers are well in sync, but her dress of a deep pink clashes terrible with his green and white suit.

When his brow raises at this, she rolls her eyes.

“Oh come on, she must be mesmerizing to distract a prince such as yourself.” Princess Hana looks over him, still holding his hand and resting her fingers on his shoulder. “I would even say she’s the reason you somehow convinced your father to throw away what was once supposed to be our engagement.”

He considers his next words carefully. As the princess is beautiful with long brown hair, it is not the white gold he seeks. This dance is simply to be polite, to her and his father.

“I hope you’re not disappointed,” he jests. She smirks.

“No actually, as I was fighting my own battle with my father against the marriage. I mean, you’re cute, but like you, I’m waiting to dance with someone else.”

As they turn, sweeping her skirts across the floor, Genji follows her eyesight to a servant boy with dark skin and long dreadlocks of hair. He awaits on the edge of the ballroom, trying to appear as if he isn’t closely watching Princess Hana dance.

They twirl back, and Genji grins at not being the only one seeking out his own love.

“He loves you,” he states.

“And I him,” she breathes, as if imagining the servant boy in her grasp now. “So I hope your girl will arrive as to allow me to stow away.”

He sighs at that. The hour grows late, and he has yet to see Mercy among the beautifully dressed girls. His father and brother stay upon the higher stairs, overseeing the grand engagement. At least the king is satisfied with him dancing with the princess.

But Mercy keeps him waiting. Anxious hands keep him tense as he scouts the room again and again.

She must come. She will come. He just has to be patient. Unless she truly doesn’t wish to see him again, she will come.

The music finishes, ending the dance. The princess and prince exchange bows, and both bare grimances that turn into grins at the others displeasure of yet another dance.

But as the music rises once more, Genji turns to the doors. A woman enters the ballroom, dressed in white and yellow. Her hair frames her face with white gold, and a halo touches upon her temple. Wings lift above her shoulders upon the backside of the dress as he locks eyes with the one he’s been waiting for all night.

Her oceans pulls him back in.

“Mercy,” it falls from his lips.

The princess steps out of his hold, but leads him off the dance floor. Genji almost stumbles as he refuses to look away from her standing at the doors.

“She is beautiful,” Princess Hana comments, looking to him with a grin. “I wouldn’t keep her waiting, Prince Genji.”

Stepping away, Genji listens to her words, and goes to the woman of wings and feathers. She looks like a dove, free and flowing as she breathes softly from the rush outside. Seeing her now, in the setting of his home and court, she fits.

She will be a wonderful princess.

As he comes to a stop in front of, they hold a simple gaze. Her smile glows like the heavens, and Genji can’t help but admire her. A dream has fallen walked into his hands. She radiates like the sun and calms his soul with a simple look.

“Prince Genji,” she speaks through pale pink lips, courstying.

“Mercy,” he returns the gesture, before holding out his hand. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Nothing creates hesitance within her as she takes his hand. Slipping her hand into the crook of his arm, Genji guides Mercy towards the king and the eldest prince.

“You have no idea what it took to get myself here,” she whispers into his ear, laughing the softest bit. She’s happy, Genji even moreso.

“I want to hear all about it, but first,” he guides her up the stairs. She minds her full skirt, keeping one hand on the beautiful fabric while allowing a glimpse of the feathered slippers. “I’d like you to meet my father.”

Her eyes widen and her grip tightens on his arm. Quietly, he pats her fingers.

“Don’t worry, he’s not as scary as he makes himself to be.” he murmurs comfort, holding a bright smile.

“Genji, are you sure?” she asks, but they are already passing the royal guards holding around the standing bodies of King Sojiro and Prince Hanzo. Both of their heavy gazes land upon her. Genji stands tall beside her as Mercy takes in his family.

She’s so unsure, but has no reason to be. He already knows her.

The king is a proud man with strong shoulders. His dark hair is shorter, and tied back in a graceful knot. Adored in platinum and royal purple, the king has deep brown eyes. They match the eldest prince’s irises as he holds smartly and haughty. He is unimpressed, but not intimating as she thought he would be.

Mercy provides her deepest courtesy as Genji bows. Rising, Genji holds her securely within his arm.

“Father, I’d like you to meet Mercy,” he introduces her, proud. Genji would not be satisfied showing any other woman to him but her. Mercy hardly feels worthy of his certainty as she holds no title, but she keeps her head held high.

“Your majesty,” Mercy says humbly.

“Mercy,” the king speaks her name, holding her intently in his gaze. “You, young lady, have enticed my sparrow’s attention and ambition for some time now. Tell me, what do you think of my second son?”

“Father!” Genji exclaims, embarrassed but the king holds steady.

Mercy blinks once. “In complete honesty, your majesty?”

He nods, earning Genji’s groan as the smallest smirk touches Hanzo’s lips.

She straightens, but shifts her grip on his arm.

“Genji is reckless, and foolish when throwing himself head first into anything that captures his attention” she says as King Sojiro listens carefully, “but he is genuine in his actions, determined, and has a good heart.”

Genji’s stare falls upon the corner of her eyes, but she looks straight onwards to the king. He nods once.

“Go on then, sparrow and dove,” he dismisses them, “I won’t take anymore of your evening together.”

The nickname he gives to Mercy fills Genji’s chest with warmth.

Genji bows with a quick thank you. A lingering, almost questioning look falls from the king onto Genji, but he gives an almost invisible nod as to not let Mercy see the exchange. When Mercy finishes her courtesy, he’s leading her along, but not towards the ballroom. Instead, they slip into the further rooms of the castle. Guards stand at every doorway, and beautiful furniture and ceilings take Mercy’s breath as Genji leads her up the stairs.

“He likes you,” Genji tells her as they come to the top of the steps.

“You should have given me a little more warning, Genji! He is the king after all,” she exasperates a little, but is recovering just fine.

“Aw, but you are perfect. There was no need to wait, and I had to introduce you before I brought you here,” he smiles, coming to a pair of double doors. Lena is the only guard to stand at them, and she beams at the sight of Mercy.

“Genji,” she bows, before facing Mercy, “Lady, I have heard so much about you since Genji can hardly shut up about you.”

“Oh can’t he now?” Mercy asks, curiously playful as Genji shakes his head at Lena. She grins until he breaks down to return it.

“Lena, if you wouldn’t mind,” Genji presses, and she steps aside to open the doors to the highest balcony upon the castle.

“Of course,” she bows. Mercy’s focus sets onto the sparkling night sky as they step through.

“Thank you, Lena.” Smoothly, he holds out his free hand behind his back, and she slips a ring into his palm. Her wink leaves them to walk out onto the balcony alone as she closes the door behind them.

Mercy breaks away to step to the edge. Soft breath leaves her as the view fills her gaze. At her distraction, Genji slips the ring into his shirt pocket. Fixing his suit jacket, he steps back to her side. Her eyes are full of the never ending sky, and the height of the castle looks down onto the pinpoints of lights acting as the kingdom.

“This is beautiful,” she says, resting her hands on the balcony edge. “You can see all the way to the forest from here.”

“Yes, maybe you could point out your home?” he tries one of her secrets, but she shakes her head.

Where she comes from doesn’t matter. If fact, she’ll never have to return to her stepmother and stepsisters ever again. She speaks of beauty, but he knows what is it. As he slips his fingers over her gloved hand upon the stone balcony, she turns back to him.

“Mercy,” he says, watching the stars fall into her oceans, “May I have this dance?”

There is no music so far up here. There is no lights besides the heavens, and the kingdom far below. No one can witness their special waltz, but Mercy rests her other hand on his shoulder.

“You may,” she gives him.

Gently, his hand comes to her waist, and they begin to step together. The fear that once edge her on to run into the wood, and kept him from even getting her name no longer exists. If he could somehow give himself to her stare here and now, he would have already done it. White gold frames her like treasure. Her lips closed carefully but softly captivate his attention. The gloves covering her hands does nothing to take away the gentleness of her fingertips.

He can’t help himself. Slowly, their dance moves from formal to improper as he wraps his arms around her waist. He draws her against him. She wants the contact too, as she lets her hands cover his shoulders as her hug surrounds him. There are no tears or need of comfort in this embrace. It is only their beating hearts attempting to be as close as possible to the other. Their steps are mindless, slowly turning into a circle as they hold onto each other.

“I’m so glad you came back to me,” Genji whispers against her cheek.

Her fingers tighten against his suit for a moment, desperate and loving.

“I tried to before,” she murmurs against his neck. “I couldn’t get away. So much has happened, Genji, but it is alright now.”

“Yes, it is,” he agrees. Stopping their soft movement upon the balcony, Mercy lifts her head, but doesn’t let go.

“You don’t have to ever go back to that house ever again,” he swears.

Her expression immediately falls but he takes her hands. Still close to her beating heart, Genji refuses to let go now.

“I have a question to ask you, but first, tell me your real name,” he all but commands.

She stills, holding his gaze, but she doesn't bow her head or turn away. Her grasp only tightens around his.

“Genji, I have so many questions about all of this,” she looks back to the doors, towards the ball, before coming back to him “But my true name…Why?”

“I will answer all of them, I promise,” he rubs his thumbs over her gloved knuckles, “but I need your true name so I can ask you one question.”

Her brow creates a divot, beautiful creasing her flawless face. Genji lifts a hand to her cheek, holding her confusion and reluctance.

“Mercy, I was scared I wouldn’t see you again,” he whispers. “I convinced my father to allow this and ruined a royal, arrange marriage just in the hopes of being in your grace once more.”

She leans into his palm, but her face crumbles. Something still fearful lingers inside her chest.

“Mercy,” he begs, “Tell me you don’t love me.”

She shakes her head but comes closer. He knows their truth. It burns his heart and fills his throat with its smoke but she still fights it. Keeping her gaze, he waits, pleading with his soul. She still struggles.

“Because I love you. I don’t want to walk this life anymore without you by my side. I can’t wake up in the morning to find anyone in my bed but you. Mercy…”

Her blue eyes find him again, keeping him afloat.

“Genji, I am not this,” she gestures to her dress and the glittering yellow wings on her back. A trembling concern keeps her brow narrowed. “I… I am not a lady.”

“You know I don’t love you because I believe there is a crown on your head,” Genji says, keeping her rushing waters against him. “I only love you.”

A deep breath fills her lungs as she closes her eyes. For a moment, it is only her lips turning into his palm, and the tremors moving through her hands that suddenly stop. Her heart makes a choice. Her gaze lifts, and her lips part.

“You make me feel like I don’t have to run,” she breathes, as if crying out to the whole world while only whispering. “I love you.”

“Tell me your name,” he says, having all he needs.

His hand falls from her cheek as he takes both of her hands between his. There is little that Genji has been absolutely sure of, without one lingering doubt, and especially of his own convection, but she is the north star. To follow her will guide him to their own place of paradise. He swore he would chase her after her, to the ends of the earth. Here she is, after a daring plead and a string of broken arrangements. The ring against the left of his chest burns as she holds no fear in this one moment.

“Angela,” she gives.

“Angela,” he says. What a name fit for such a soul. Slowly, he falls to one knee, still grasping her fingers at her sudden confusion at his posture.

“Angela,” he echoes, reaching for the ring in his shirt pocket. “Angela, Mercy, the beautiful beast that ran so quickly you startled me into the river...”

Her laugh comes quietly at that, but she still looks to him in question.

He breathes out slowly.

“My lovely lady, will you—”

Loud, thunderous bells ring over Genji’s words. Startling with a gasp, Mercy looks to the highest point of the castle where the bells swing to producing such a swelling of sound.

“Midnight,” she gasps quietly. In one swift motion, she steps out of Genji’s grasp. Her eyes fall over her dress as she looks back to the castle where the ball continues on. “I’m so sorry, Genji… I must go.”

“What?” Genji starts, getting to his feet. The ring falls back into his pocket at her abrupt dart to the doors. “Mercy, wait!”

“I’m sorry,” she says again, dashing into the castle room and past a bewildered Lena.

“No, Mercy.” Genji runs too. He refuses to believe that everything she just said is not her truth. If he could only show her the ring, and ask his question, she’ll stop be afraid of those people. He’ll show her he’ll protect her from them, and all else that dares to frighten her.

Oh but the wings on her back seem to make her light. Through the castle rooms and the flights of steps, she runs as if in bare feet and through the woods. The clashing bells keep time with their chase. Genji calls out to her with pleads, but her apologies keeping falling over her shoulder.

She reaches the ballroom, curtsying hurriedly to the king and elder prince before descending the steps. Genji dashes past his father and brother, unable to stop to Hanzo’s call. The other dancers are pale glimmers of candlelight to Mercy’s feathers and wings, but she still rushes to the doors.

The outside steps are marbled, and fall down from the hilltop the castle occupies. Mercy lifts her glittering skirts and takes to them swiftly. When Genji bursts out of his home, she is already halfway down to the carriages. The wings on her back move with her as if she’s a heavenly messenger returning to the clouds.

“Angela!” he shouts as a white carriage pulls up to her as a wiry and tall couchman opens the door for her.

Mercy disappears inside. The door shuts and the horses galloped off at the slap of the reins in mere moments. Genji shouts again, panic touching through him at unable to keep up with her running. When he reaches the bottom of the steps, the carriage is long gone, and he is breathless.

He swore to chase her wherever she went, but that doesn’t mean he can keep up with her. Cursing, Genji pats the ring in his pocket, insuring it’s still there. He racks his brain for why midnight could possible make Mercy panic so. She did say it took a lot to get her, perhaps that is when her stepmother will notice her absent.

Is she afraid of being punished? Hurt even? Genji swears again as he turns on the steps. If he only would have been faster in showing her that he could keep her safe from those wicked women, maybe she wouldn’t have retreated.

As he comes back to the castle, a glittering sight catches the corner of his vision. On the few last steps, a shoe lays abandoned.

Releasing a tense breath from his shoulders, Genji kneels. The shoe is adorned with two small wings on either side of the heel. White with dipped, yellow details, the owner of the slipper has just run away from Genji.

He takes it in his hands, sparking an idea from the beautiful shoe. The panic once freezing his lungs now frees his breathing.

He will find Mercy again. Her soft confession of feeling like she doesn’t has to run around him still lingers heavily in his heart. He needs only a moment to prove to her that she never has to again. All her troubles, all her worries, will be taken care of. Once she is his princess, Mercy will never know harshness or cruelty.

She’ll never have to be afraid again. That promise seals swiftly into his ribcage.

He must only find the owner of this slipper first.

* * *

She lost one slipper.

The magic of her fairy godmother began unraveling just as the horses raced the carriaged to her house. With what little luck Mercy has, she at least made it to the road in front of her home before the carriage turned back into a pumpkin. The horses turned back into mice, and the coachmen once again became a pig and rat. They fled into the backyard as Mercy takes to the house. Her dress no longer sparkles with yellow and beautiful wings, but it is still her mother’s fabric.

She slips the one shoe on her foot off, examining it with a small surprise. It still sparkles with the wings flaring out along the back. Beautiful, but missing it’s other half.

For one moment, Mercy simply clutches the shoe to her chest. She danced with Genji. She was able to hold him in her arms one more time. He doesn’t have to marry some unknown woman. He’s free, and she was able to witness it for a small piece of time.

That’s all she can ask.

Carefully, she stows the shoe under her mattress, least her stepmother still find some way to belittle and punish her more.

Sitting on the edge of her thin bed, Mercy breathes out softly. She had to run once the clock started chiming, and Genji… he had a question that he never asked. Overwhelmed by the already perfect evening, and Genji’s talk of never having to face her stepmothers and stepsisters insured her retreat. How could she appear in rags before him then? How could she become only a servant girl when, for one heartbeat, she was as good as a princess?

She couldn’t bare it, not then.

Her arms wrap around herself, attempting to keep the warmth of the evening inside her veins before the icy thoughts take over.

He knows her love for him. That is all she can give, but she won’t cry again tonight. She’ll just dream of their dance.

* * *

“This beastly girl stormed in, and Prince Genji immediately went to her! Like he knew her already!” Amélie all but squeals at the breakfast table. Quietly, Mercy keeps face as she places down their plates of food.

“She looked so ridiculous in those wings. It was a formal ball, not a costume party,” Sombra curls her lips in distress too.

To say Mercy doesn’t take the smallest bit of satisfaction at spoiling her stepsisters’ night with just her entrance to the ball would be a lie.

“Girls, do shut up,” Moira orders. Both her daughters fall into an angry silence. “They’re only looking for the girl who can fit the shoe.”

Mercy stills. Her back faces her stepmother and stepsisters, but her ears keenly turn to Moira’s next words.

“By royal command, every maiden is to be presented when the royal guard comes to their home, and try a shoe on their foot,” her stepmother speaks levely, almost certainly. She leans the slightest bit forward as she continues.

“My beautiful, daughters, one of you will make your foot fit into that slipper, and be brought back to the prince where he will marry you.”

Her heart constricts. Marriage. Is that what Genji was planning? Oh… he was on one knee before her just as the bells range out!

But if he searches all the homes of the land, he will eventually come here. Moira wants Sombra or Amélie to be taken away but it is her shoe alone. Mercy has the other slipper as well, they must believe her to be the owner of it if she shows it to them!

He will see her, just in her dirty yellow dress and ashed covered cheeks, but he will see her.

Never stop fighting for what you believe in.

The fairy’s words come back to Mercy’s mind, filling her chest. There is no more room for shame and fear. It simply won’t be shared with the want and need of his image again. They both will be far away from her stepmother if Genji truly wants to marry her. They will be together.

She can be free too.

She has to believe he won’t fall away from her status as being the lowest member of her own house.

Mercy doesn’t listen to the rest of Moira’s instructions to pass Amélie and Sombra off as the maiden that rushed away from the ball last night. As patiencily as she can, she waits for them to finish, and cleans the table. Taking to the backyard the moment she is able to, Mercy bears her light heart and smile to the mice and pigs. Her chores are as burdensome as ever, but they do not weight her shoulders down.

When the last of the work, for the moment, is completed, Mercy takes to the attic of her bedroom. She will be as presentable as possible but she must have the other shoe ready.

She refuses the fear still attempting to claw up into her throat at the thought of her stepmother or her own shame and worthlessness. If she falters again, she may lose him forever. Genji planned on asking her hand in marriage, she can accept it without a backwards glance.

She won’t stop fighting for him.

She enters her lowly room, but the smile on her face dies in an instance.

Moira sits on the edge of her bed, holding the heel of the winged slipper around her clawed fingers. In the shadows of the attic, one eye of blue, and one eye of brown holds her in sharp suspension. The beating of Mercy’s heart comes to a crawl.

Her long fingernails tighten for a moment about the white and yellow shoe.

“I don’t know how, and I don’t know when you got to that prince, but I don’t care.” She speaks with ice. “All that matters now, is when the prince comes, I will give you to him. Once you two are married, you will bring my daughters and I to the castle, and make us royal members of the family.”

The acid falling off of Moira as she gets to her feet, strides across the room with her to to where Mercy stands still. Her hands ache to wring around each other, but she doesn’t move. A blood deep fear is coming true right before her eyes.

“You stupid child.” She sneers around her back, forcing Mercy to turn and watch her walk to the door. "Did you not think I would find out your little scheme? You are not going to enjoy the wealth of the castle without me.”

Her stepmother, in Genji’s home. Her stepsisters alongside her, attempting to woo the elder prince as both the king’s sons try to make the kingdom better. How can she let such poison into his presence? How can she let him be tainted like she is now?

“No.”

It is but a whisper, but Mercy speaks it with the commanding voice of a queen.

Moira tilts her head the slightly, eyes glinting intensely upon her.

“Speak up, I can’t hear your murmurs.”

“No.” Mercy rises like the dawning sun. She does not shrink, or let her hands show weakness. “ I could not protect my father from you, but I will protect the prince. You will not touch him.”

It all falls from her lips, but she holds the strength tightly in her chest.

In three long strides, Moira comes back to her. Her palm smacks Mercy’s cheek, sending her reeling into a curved wall of the antic. Heaving breaths fill Mercy as she brings her hand to her bright scarlet face. Years of abuse, mistreatment and neglect stand forward in her mind. Moira has always used Mercy’s shame and worthlessness to her advantage, but now, a fire burns her heart. There is no recoling, there is no hiding.

No more running.

What her stepmother is doing is wrong, and she will not let her bring her evil ways anywhere near Genji. Mercy will fight until she can no longer breathe. She is worthy of love.

“Insolent, selfish girl,” Moira speaks, eyes like the edge of a knife. She turns, leaving Mercy as she lifts keys from her pocket.

“No!” Mercy dashes forward. The lock slides into place on the attic door moments before she throws herself against it. Crying out, Mercy screams at her stepmother, but her sharp heels click down the spiral staircase with no hesitance.

The door does not give in. Retreating to the rest of the attic, Mercy sets to the windows in hopes of finding a way to scale out, but the fall is too far. She doesn’t have anything of use in her room to help her escape. Only a bed stares back at her. Her fists hold tightly as she opens the windows, looking outside.

A fire builds in the backyard. Her stepmother stands before it, watching it burn. Mercy stills at the feather slipper in her still curled hand. She touches her cheek where it still aches dully from Moira’s strike.

Her stepmother throws the shoe into the fire. It settles on top of the kindle before flames lick the white to black.

Nothing in Mercy’s chest falters. The fire her stepmother burns only reflects the growing heat in Mercy’s heart. Moira will do all that she can, but she will not get close to Genji.

There is still one slipper left.

* * *

Once again, Genji had to plead to his father for help. The woman in the wings, Mercy, had to leave before he could ask her hand in marriage. King Sojiro was angry at this, but he allows him to seek her out, so long as he could see it is the same maiden that fits the feathered slipper.

Genji, with Lena and half the guard at his backside from his father’s orders, combs the farest corners of the kingdom. He knows Mercy’s home lines somewhere along the forest, but he has yet to find her among the long roads and farm houses. Every time they enter a house, Genji comes to see the maidens waiting eagerly to try the shoe, but he knows they are already finished there. Still, he obeys the king, and tries the shoe on every maiden.

He doesn’t lose hope, especially with Lena chattering at his side, but he grows heavy with worry. She runs so quickly, he would be surprised if a jack rabbit beat her in a foot race, but her stepmother may have caught her on her rush home. The fear that the ball may have caused her more trouble then Genji had anticipated stabs sharply into his side.

The moment he finds her, he won’t let her run again. He’ll take her to their castle, and she will be no one’s servant, no one’s worker. All the books and practice of medicine will be at her fingertips. They’ll ride horses until they are too sore to walk. Her belly will never know hunger, and she’ll never be afraid.

He’ll stay with her.

As the evening sun turns gold, they come upon a large house. There are few animals, but the stonework is beautiful. The guard stop upon the threshold, and Lena knocks loudly upon the door.

A women and her two daughters answer. Her words are slick and pleasing. She stands as tall as the trees with red hair as Lena recites the royal command that all young maidens must try on the feathered slipper. The shoe still holds in Genji’s grasp as he takes in the young women. They are not the blonde hair, ocean eye maiden he knows, so he hands the shoe to Lena to try upon their feet with disappointment.

The mother, Moira, tenses and speaks sharply under her breath to her daughters when the shoe does not even go over their whole foot. They twist and turn and shove as much as any other women desperate to have the prince carry them back to the castle, but the slipper does not allow it. Lena eventually has to take it back, asking once more if there are any other young maidens under their room.

“No one else is here,” Moira speaks smoothly, containing her rage at the unfitting shoe.

Genji almost curls his fists in frustration when the breeze gently tugs at his skin. Lifting his eyes, white downy falls from the air. Hundreds of little feathers float on a gentle breeze. Moira freezes at the sight, stilling in the doorway as she prepares to close it.

The anomaly of falling feathers trails from over the roof and behind the house. The highest point lies hidden in the backyard. Lena comes to stand at Genji’s horse, watching as he plucks one of the feathers from the air.

Just like the details on Mercy’s dress.

“No one else is here?” he asks, watching Moira bow her head at his direct question.

“No, your highness,” she says, but her words tremble.

“Then it would seem that birds are spontaneously losing their feathers above your house, madam,” Lena speaks, sharing a gaze with the prince.

“Lena, will you search the rest of the house?” Genji asks as he dismounts his house. His personal guardsman gives a small bow at this, handing him the slipper.

“It would be my pleasure,” she says. She takes to the door. Swiftly opening it and forcing her way inside, she does not slow when she passes the stunned, redheaded woman.

Half of his guard flow into the house with Genji. His blood rushes at the thought of her gaze once again upon his. The daughters and mother are forced to stay aside as Genji keeps with Lena’s speed. She moves to the back of the house, where a spiral staircase greets them. The rhythm of Genji’s heartbeat accelerates at the sight. The steps are taken two at a time as they rise to find the source of the mysterious feather throwing. Stopping before a locked door, Lena waits for his command. He nods.

Clutching the shoe, Genji can feel her, as if she stands right in front of him.

Lena proceeds to kick at the door, breaking the handle. It flies inwards, and opens to a drafty, open attic. The violent burst into the room startles a woman beside a window.

Mercy’s eyes are as wide as the moon, but she stands tall. A mattress is ripped apart at her feet, with the feather stuffing clinging to the edges of the window as she drops a handful. Small, white downy sticks to her skirt and hair, but Genji becomes overwhelmed.

“Mercy,” he speaks. She is unharmed, and standing in the sun. A halo of gold sunlight makes her hair shine.

Her own lips part silently, before she comes to herself and courtesy to him.

“Prince Genji,” she breathes, but he’s already crossed the room. He comes to her in a swift motion of an embrace, and Mercy breathes against his neck before she clutches him in return.

“Please don’t run away again,” he pleads into her ear, earning her choked but happy laugh.

“I won’t,” she promises. “I won’t. I won’t stop fighting for you, Genji.”

Soft honeysuckle falls from her hair. Her gentle hands move against his shoulder glades, holding as desperately as he is. To hear her quiet breaths, and feel her soft heartbeat settles Genji’s restless soul.

“Prince Genji,” Lena quietly coughs. Genji knows what must be done now, but he’s almost afraid to let go and find her running again.

But slowly, he loosens his hold. He shifts is hands to cup her face for a moment.

“My father ordered that when I found you, that I must make sure the slipper fits,” he says. One of her cheeks are a brighter red, but the blue of her eyes drown it all out.

“Try it on me,” she agrees, touching through his hair for a soft moment.

He lets her go, but swiftly takes the shoe from Lena. The feathers are still a sunset yellow, and her eyes fall upon it familiarly. The attic holds nothing but a bed frame, too low for her to sit, so Genji kneels before her.

She picks up her skirt with one hand, showing her right foot forward. A dirty boot covers her foot. To keep balance, Mercy rests her free hand upon his shoulder, holding on as Genji takes the boot off with ease.

Lifting the shoe, Genji looks up to her. Her hair falls over her shoulders as she breathes out softly. Feathers and cinder stain her clothes, but she is as beautiful as when she bursted into the ball.

“You see me as I truly am.” Mercy says, softly but with no wariness. “Can you love that?”

He lifts his gaze, holding her blue eyes with nothing but soft certainty.

“I already do,” Genji answers. Her irises become a watery wave as he balances the shoe between his fingers. Lifting her foot, Genji slowly slips the slipper over her toes and heels. It fits with no hinderance or resistance.

Mercy lowers the slipper to the ground, and holds Genji’s gaze as he takes both her hands. Rising to his feet, there is very little between them.

“Will you come with me to the castle, or will you still have me chasing after you?” Genji asks, amusement tugging at his lips while he still cradles her fingers.

“No more running,” she swears again.

He nods once, satisfied as he touches one hand to her cheek.

“Angela,” he murmurs. He steps closer, as if they are to dance with their hearts pressed against each other, but his lips tell a different story. For a moment, the ocean crashes against him before she reaches for him too. The name he speaks flows through her before her smile lights his vision.

Her gentle breath brushes against his skin. Heat touches his lips as honeysuckle overwhelms his tongue. He wants only her, and moves to taste her kiss.

It’s the stream that he first stumbled into when she burst into the meadow. The rush of the wind as they raced on horseback. Her laughter, echoing softly but sincerely. The long locks that fall free from her ponytail to frame her face in gold. She tastes like the flowers around their feet when she cried against him. Her lips move as gently as her hands when she bandaged his bleeding arm. He tastes her tongue softly. He moves with a honest need similar to that of oxygen.

He gasps from her kiss, overwhelmed and free and peaceful all at once. His thrumb caresses her cheek as she looks back to him. Free waters touch against him with their purity.

“I still have a question to ask you, but not here,” he says. “Come with me, my lovely Lady.”

Her lips still glow with the aftermath of their kiss. Quietly, at his offered arm, she slips her hand around it.

“I will,” she says against him. “Let’s leave this place.”

They both step forward, arm in arm towards the staircase. Even with the feathers in her hair and dirt on her skirt, she stays beside the prince. Lena beams at both of them as they take to the spiral staircase.

“King Sojiro will be expecting you two,” Lena says.

“We won’t keep my father waiting,” Genji pats Mercy’s hand. “Lena, stay with the rest of the guard and see that they bring all of Mercy’s possessions, including that of her mother’s and father’s, to the castle.”

Mercy squeezes her hand against him, looking to him with another radiating smile as her oceans waver with joy.

“It will be done, Genji,” Lena nods, keeping with them as they come to the bottom of the stairs.

“Is there anything else, Mercy?” Genji asks, he will leave nothing left unresolved for her. “These wicked women will be taken care of when we are done here, but what else would you have?”

Her other hand laps onto his arm, gentle and firm.

“I already have all that I need,” she says. Warmth fills his chest at her certainty, no longer conflicted and battling herself. Nodding, Genji takes Mercy forward. They pass through the hall, where the guards keeps Mercy’s stepmother and stepsisters out of the way.

Genji shifts to keep between her and her stepmother’s cold eyes but Mercy is the one to stop. He stills beside her, before she faces Moira. A reassuring squeeze tells him to let her do this, as much as he would rather keep thousands of miles between her and that woman.

“I know my worth, and it is more than you ever could have treated me as.” Mercy speaks, stopping everyone’s breath in the open hallway.

Genji holds no doubts that she will make a strong princess.

At Moira’s hard, unmoving expression, Mercy raises her chin high.

“You will never be cruel to me again.”

She does not look back when Genji escorts her from the house. Genji stops her only for a moment to brush her hair from her face.

“I’m ready, Genji,” she says, proud in her cheekbones.

“Let’s go, Angela,” he says. The happiness pouring out of his heart surely cannot be matched, but perhaps calling her his wife will do the trick.

Upon his horse, they mount together, and she holds onto his back with deep, settled breaths as they ride away from the house. Her limbs are steady, and the wind touches through them both as they ride. The ring meant for her hand waits within the castle walls, but very soon, it will come to her. Occasionally, she presses a light kiss to the back of his neck.

The Lady is of his heart and hand now.

* * *

They stand before the paintings of the kings and the queens of the past. Genji’s ancestors. The frame of King Sojiro and his queen are held in the center of the wall. It is all too easy to see Genji in his mother’s face.

“For a moment, I was wondering if you’d run down the aisle,” Genji says.

“If your father hadn’t been escorting me, I had a keen mind to do so,” Mercy says, still grasping his hand with the ring she slipped onto his finger. It shines a royal green. “But I didn’t want another beast to startle you into falling.”

He attempts to stop his laughter but it overwhelms him. At her brilliant grin, he can’t help it.

When King Sojiro placed her hand in Genji’s, he called her ‘dove’. From the few times Mercy has heard the king affectionically call Genji ‘sparrow’, the dotting name still fits softly in her chest.

He holds her hand out, sharing her gaze before the wall of paintings. Softly, he brushes her wedding veil behind her shoulder. Heaven forbid if it hides her face like it did before. He is aglow. Mercy leans forward to press a soft, chaste to his lips before finding his sepia irises again.

“My prince,” Mercy breathes, still finding him as soft as when they finished their vows. “The people are waiting for us.”

“Hmmm,” he hums for a moment, touching his thumb to her cheek for a moment. “Are you ready, Princess Angela?”

The title still jars her soul, but in an uplifting sense. When it falls from his lips, her lungs fill with a steady, sure spirit.

She speaks with her entire heart when she says, “You make me feel like I don’t have to run. Husband of mine, let’s go face the people.”

He lights up at the title only she can give.

His hand tightens around hers. Taking to the balcony overseeing the courtyard of the castle, they stay side by side. The breeze softly plays with her dress, and tousles Genji’s black hair. The kingdom’s people gather underneath, cheering for the newly wedded prince and princess as pink petals from the trees fall like snow. Her people as well now. In her wedding gown of white and sheer lace, along with Genji’s own white suit, they look fit enough to lead.

Prince Genji and Princess Angela. Together, they shoulder their responsibilities for the people and its kingdom with grace and strength.

“Mercy,” he turns away from the crowd, still preferring that name over all others. “Angela. My wife. My princess. My lovely lady. My—”

She stops his lips with a kiss. For a brief second, the cheering grows at the prince’s and princess’s affection. The kiss falls deeply, as passionate as if they were alone and not before their kingdom.

“My love,” she finishes against him before blush touches lightly upon her cheeks. The many eyes upon them only causes Genji to laugh as he pulls her closer.


End file.
